


Used

by RedHawkeRevolver



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Blood Magic, But can he save her?, Cullen is saving Templars, Depression, Evelyn's Unhappy Ending, F/M, I REGRET NOTHING, Post-Trespasser, Self-Harm, This is actually turning pretty fluffy, babies ever after
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-06-08 11:48:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 29,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6853381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedHawkeRevolver/pseuds/RedHawkeRevolver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Evelyn made sure everyone would have a happy ending, even if it was at the expense of her own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Seek

**Author's Note:**

> My writing muse has apparently left me for greener pastures recently. I have a bunch of things/chapters half written that I can't seem to finish up despite my desire to do so. I thought maybe writing something angsty would help. We'll see if it does. Please note the triggers for self-harm and depression. If I keep going with this story, it will be a happy ending, but this first chapter is most definitely not happy. Also, no smut. This is more of an emotional exploration. The rating is for language and dark themes. If you keep reading, thanks for reading!

"There's someone here to see you."

Cullen chucked to himself. He was almost in more demand these days than he used to be at Skyhold. "We're running out of rooms, Rylen. We'll have to start doubling up, not that anyone would mind."

The former Commander of the Inquisition, _and former Templar_ , had hoped his project to aid other former Templars find a new path would be successful but he never dreamed so many would come so quickly. It filled him with satisfaction knowing he was helping his brothers find a future without lyrium. It made all of his past struggles worth it.

"It's not a Templar, it's…"

"It's a very important, very handsome old friend who has valiantly braved the rough reality of backwater Ferelden in order to speak with one equally handsome ex-Templar. Now step aside."

Dorian pushed past Rylen loudly announcing his own arrival. The newly minted magister looked down his nose at his surroundings. Cullen's office was small but comfortable and it was all he needed. He spent most of his time in the fields or attending to the endless chores in and around his new farmlands and helping his 'charges' do the same.

Every man and woman who sought sanctuary here eagerly contributed to the work that needed doing. Ultimately it helped them find their way back to themselves and away from their Chantry chains in the solitude and solace of what Cullen considered an idyllic pastoral setting. Dorian apparently felt differently.

"Do you have any idea how inconvenient it is to visit you?" His 'old friend' helped himself to a chair across from his desk. Rylen smiled, shook his head and left them alone.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Cullen said amicably. He always did enjoy seeing friends. Most of them had come to visit him at least once already, including Cass... _Divine Victoria_ , he corrected himself, who offered a blessing on the place that was well received by the public and much appreciated. The only person he'd yet to host in his new home was Evelyn. In fact, he hadn't seen her since the Inquisition was disbanded.

Cullen shifted in his chair and pushed away his familiar regret at the thought of her. Whether he would ever act on that regret or just let it sit for a while longer, he hadn't yet decided. If there was one thing he had now, it was time. He'd been given a clear head, a life and all the time in the world, not in small part because of the Inquisitor herself, but again he set aside the ruminating for later.

Dorian's expression changed at Cullen's casual question from one of happy greeting to serious business. "Have you heard from or seen Evelyn recently?"

There was something in Dorian's tone Cullen didn't like. Coupled with his all too frequent thoughts about her and now this unexpected visit had his heart start to beat just a few paces faster.

"No...I...I haven't." He cast his eyes downward and rubbed guiltily at the back of his neck. Things were better now. He should have contacted her. Things were calm and he'd wanted so many times to write to her or visit her and perhaps try to tell her that he felt _ready_ now.

He was finally the man he wanted to be, free and clear, and he was ready to _try_. All too often he thought back to when she expressed her desire to have a more intimate relationship with him. Though it was the right decision at the time to tell her he couldn't return her feelings when he was still so affected by the physical and emotional toll his withdrawals were taking on him, it didn't make it any easier to remember how much he'd _wanted_ to be with her, and yet couldn't. But now it was different. Now...

"Exactly." Dorian interrupted his thoughts. "None of us really have. When things settled a bit back home, I tried to communicate with her several times, but I was unable to reach her, so I decided to be persistent."

"One of your many virtues" Cullen added dryly.

"Indeed." Dorian's voice still carried an undercurrent of concern that was starting to make Cullen uncomfortable. He leaned forward with rapt attention now as the mage continued talking.

"Apparently, letters to the Inquisitor have continued to go to Skyhold via Leliana while our former spymaster continues to pack the place up in mothballs. The good Sister, however, has had nowhere to forward them too. She told me Evelyn took a few of her things and left very shortly after the healers assured her arm was as healed as it was going to get. She told The Nightingale she was going to visit her family on a short trip but when she didn't return after a few weeks Leliana sent word to Ostwick and found out that not only had Evelyn not returned there for a visit, but that the Trevelyans hadn't seen their daughter since they sent her to the Circle and despite having saved the world etcetera, etcetera, they had no desire to communicate with her. And thus, I find myself here."

It was Dorian's turn to shift uncomfortably in his seat. "She always had feelings for you Cullen, I don't think that was any secret, but she respected your boundaries. I thought perhaps now that things have slowed down, she might have tried to contact you…?" His words drifted off, the answer to his question already obvious on Cullen's confused face.

"Are you saying no one knows where she is?" Somehow, it was The Commander's voice that escaped Cullen's mouth, direct and firm, anxiety starting to descend over a missing Evelyn that he'd willfully avoided contacting all these months because of his own stupid hesitations.

Dorian sighed and sat back. "We know where she is, Cullen. We've all tried to see her since I found her, but she didn't want to be found you see. She's not…" Dorian searched for the right words. "She isn't herself. And it's...well, it's just...we thought you might be able to speak with her more effectively. You need to try."

Whether Cullen wanted to or not, whether he felt ready or not, something was wrong and he found he now couldn't get to her fast enough. Dorian rose and slipped a small piece of parchment onto his desk.

"She's not very far from here, ironically." He murmured softly and pointed at the parchment. "Those are the best directions I can give you. I'll be staying in town for a few days. I'd like to hear if you manage to get through to her." And with that Dorian left in the physical sense but he left behind a horrible feeling of finality and resignation.

Cullen set out the following day.

The "directions" Dorian provided proved mostly worthless. It appeared Evelyn had relocated near a small town very close by. It took Cullen only two days' ride to get there but once he arrived no one could direct him to where she was staying. The village was friendly and welcoming but no one knew Evelyn by name nor did they seem to know that the former Inquisitor had settled among them. After another two days of searching in what was increasingly becoming an exercise in futility, Cullen decided to try a different tactic.

Business in the outdoor market of the little hamlet was dying down on the fifth evening after Dorian's visit to Cullen's farm. He stopped at each of the merchants and specifically asked after a dark haired woman missing her left hand.

"Oh! Right dearie, I've seen her now and then." An old woman with a youthful smile looked up at him from behind her stall. "Frail thing she is. Said she lost her arm in the war. I told her my grandson could help her round her house if she needed anything, but she's never taken me up on the offer. I'm usually the only one still open when she comes by."

The woman didn't know specifically where Evelyn was living but directed him into the woods saying that she would buy her necessities and then venture back into the forest away from the village proper.

It was getting late but Cullen wasn't about to wait until morning. By moonlight he walked a narrow winding path through the trees on the outskirts of the inhabited areas. It almost wasn't a path at all, just a bit of clear space where the brambles had yet to spawn. Eventually he saw a dim light in a clearing up ahead. A tiny shack came into view.

Cullen would have expected to find wards or protection spells around an otherwise unprotected dwelling if this was truly where Evelyn was living. She'd always been careful and conscientious. Yet as he slowly approached not only were there no defensive spells hindering his progress, the rickety door was ajar, not locked or bolted, not even shut. The weak burn of candlelight slipped out from the cracked open entryway.

Cullen drew his sword. He was now certain Evelyn was not the occupant of this place but he needed to at least assure whoever was bold enough, _or dangerous enough_ , to ignore simple safety in the dark woods at night wasn't going to be a problem for the villagers.

He tapped on the door with his weapon, and when there was no response he pushed it open with his boot. He wished he would have found a bandit lair. It would have been much less unnerving. What he found chilled him to his bones.

Evelyn was sprawled on her side in a small cot facing the door. Her eyes were closed and she didn't stir when he entered. She'd cut her hair. Her hair with a scent he could recall on memory alone from the few times she stood so close it would waft towards him. Her long hair that had featured many times in his fantasies, tangled through his fingers and strewn across his chest.

The once abundant tresses were trimmed close to her scalp in some places and in other spots there were longer pieces, ragged and careless. He wondered how much time it had taken her with only one hand to do even that much. Her full and healthy figure, that he imagined he might be able to hold in his arms one day, had wasted away. She was nothing but sharp angles covered by too big clothes.

The arrest of speech he suffered at the first glimpse of her was nothing compared to the clenching pain in his gut at the sight of her remaining hand hanging loose over the edge of the bed. A thin trickle of blood traveled down her palm slowly following a path to her fingertips and then dripping onto the dirt of the floor in a growing stain. The blood came from a deep cut on her wrist, a fresh one among what looked to be many older ones in various states of healing.

Too shocked to move, he just stood there in the doorway, his sword having fallen sadly to his side. There were no enemies to fight here. Unless _pain_ could be considered one.

"Go away Cullen." Evelyn whispered from dry lips, her eyes still closed. The words were devoid of any emotion. Her affect was flat. Dull. Empty. "I'm trying to sleep."

"It looks like you're trying to die." The terrible thought popped in his head and found its way to his mouth before he could hold it back. He didn't want to think it. He didn't want to say it. But the truth of it, the sight of it, couldn't be denied.

"The Maker isn't that kind." The shadow that used to be the Inquisitor finally sat up. Their eyes met. Hers were hollow, his were still wide with disbelief. "Now leave." She ordered him, a small measure of her former authority echoing through the strain of... _of living_.

_Fucking Void._ It hit him all at once, the realization that he intimately knew what she was feeling. Or what she was desperately trying _not_ to feel. He'd felt it when the lyrium call was still so strong in his blood he could almost hear nothing else. It was she who had helped him through that. She, who had once been so strong, now looked _done_. _Hopeless_.

But how? _Why_?

She continued talking but turned away from him, lying back down on the bed, this time facing the wall. "The Templars need you. And tell Dorian to go back home as well. Tevinter needs him. I'm officially through with being ' _needed'_ so please _go the fuck away_."

"Evelyn…" What was he to say? Where was he to start? _What was going on_? To say that she wasn't herself was an understatement of massive proportions. She had been a rock, a force, a Herald. Now she just looked broken.

"Go Cullen! Go!" Angry now, she shouted and moved faster than her feeble form should have allowed. Rising from the bed, she lifted her good but bloodied hand at him. Never had she used magic on him. Never would she have dared. He wasn't expecting it when she threw out a shock wave so powerful it flung him off his feet and hurled him backwards into the woods. The wind was knocked out of him and consciousness left him when he collided with a tree trunk. The last thing he saw before he passed out was Evelyn slamming her door shut. The last thing he felt, the last thing his damnable persistent Templar senses felt, was the lingering taint of blood on her magic.


	2. Find

Cullen woke with his head on a pillow feeling warmer than he should have for having been passed out on the forest floor all night. It was when he tried to sit up, cradling his still aching head, that he sensed the protection glyph faintly glowing beneath him. It fizzled away when he moved, the faint breath of Evelyn’s magic disappearing with it. Evelyn’s old magic. Not the blood-fueled pain that hurled him into a tree last night. 

_ She’s still in there somewhere. _ If she took the time to do all this for him even after throwing him out on his arse, then the woman who was Evelyn Trevelyan was not lost to them,  _ to him _ , just yet. 

He pulled away the worn blanket that she’d also draped over him and tested his limbs. Nothing seemed injured unless she’d healed him while he slept as well. It hurt him to think that she made sure he was cared for when she was obviously the one who needed the attention. It hurt him more to think that while he and the rest of their friends had been reaping the benefits of Evelyn’s sacrifices, starting new lives and fulfilling new goals, she had been silently collapsing into whoever that person was he met last night. 

Did she feel discarded? Used? Alone? Why didn’t she reach out to him? To any of them?  Most of all it hurt him that he dared to feel his own hurt over her private pain. 

Nothing was helping her less, however, than him sitting in the dirt with his regrets. Cullen rose, dusted himself off and walked back towards Evelyn’s front door. When he saw it wide open and dark inside despite the now rapidly rising sun, he knew what he would find. 

He sighed at the empty dwelling. She had left some time in the night. The sparse furnishings were all that remained in the small shack, if ever there any been much of anything else there. Whatever belongings Evelyn might have had in her possession, she’d taken. The only things left were the dried stain of her blood next to the bed and a knife with its handle wedged into the gap between the slats of a small nightstand. 

Cullen closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing. An image of Evelyn drawing her good wrist along the propped up blade forced its way into his head. He wondered what she was doing last night, or what she had meant to do, just lying in bed bleeding. She certainly hadn't looked like a person intent on summoning a demon and yet even as he ran his fingers along the crusted blood on the knife he could feel the dark pull of powers that he never thought he would feel in association with Andraste’s Herald. 

He still believed her to be that. The Herald. He believed it from the moment they first spoke. He never told her that though. Perhaps he should have. She always said she wasn't comfortable with the moniker despite living up to it so selflessly time and again, so he’d never actually  _ told her.  _

Cullen pulled the knife with Evelyn’s blood from the table and sheathed it in his boot. He turned away from the miserable remnants of the previous night and left, determined to find her. It had been years since he tracked a mage and without lyrium or a proper phylactery he would be little better at it than if he was no Templar at all but he had to try.

It wasn't long before he realized with both sadness and relief that the hum of her blood and his Templar senses were falling into synchrony. He could  _ feel _ her, and though it was faint, his body moved with it and he knew he could find his way to her. 

He wished it wasn’t like this. His first taste of her essence was from a distance and it wasn’t invited. Would she forgive him?  _ Maker _ , he imagined there was more he should beg forgiveness for than just this. 

_ How could he have let this happen? _ What a fool he’d been, selfishly thinking he had all the time in the world to mull over his own indecision and when  _ he _ was ready a perfect little Evelyn would just be waiting for him with open arms. He winced when he remembered she only had one arm left. 

The verdant forest seemed to shrink away from him and its vibrant colors were replaced by the black shadows of his thoughts. She’d succeeded at every turn for all of them and in return they had failed her. 

His horse was waiting for him in the little village and he set out immediately. On foot there was only so far she could have gone. He followed the low murmur of her magic as it called to him from afar. He even closed his eyes, letting his horse judge their steps as he used his senses to guide them to her. 

He rode all morning and all afternoon stopping only to rest his mount. He found her as the sun was setting. She was sitting on a small hill next to a welcoming fire in the approaching chill of evening. A cloak was wrapped around her and its cowl hung low hiding her face, but he knew it was her. He tied his horse to a tree and walked over to her but didn’t speak. 

“You’re more persistent than Dorian.” She didn’t bother to turn towards him, her voice still tired and flat. “What do you want, Cullen?”

He wanted to pick her up, touch her, shake her, hold her. He wanted to yell his anger and whisper his penance in her ear. He wanted to say so many things, but instead he decided to think back. Cullen searched his fractured memories of that day he’d felt his worst, when the withdrawals had pushed him to the edge, when he tried to talk Cassandra into removing him as the Inquisition's Commander. He needed to remember what Evelyn had said to him that day when he thought the only thing there was left in life to do was to disappear into silent obscurity and let the pain win. 

“What do  _ you _ want, Evelyn?” 

That day, she hadn’t so much given him a choice but made him see that he had a choice to make. To give in or to persevere. He had nothing to offer her but what she had offered him back then. Self-determination and the support of a friend. 

She didn’t answer him right away. She didn’t even answer him for hours. He sat next to her by the fire for a while. Then he set up a small tent he’d brought along with his supplies. He got more wood for the fire and built it up as the moons rose. He sat next to her again.

“I want to sleep, Cullen.” 

He barely heard the words. The softest whisper.

“I’m... _ tired _ .” Louder this time, but only for the choke of a weak sob at the end. 

“Have you slept?” He knew that wasn’t the only kind of ‘tired’ she was talking about, but it was a start.

“I can’t sleep anymore. It was hard before, since the Conclave even, but now…” She lifted her head back to look up at the stars in the sky. Her hood fell and revealed her face. More gaunt than he remembered, but still beautiful to him in the moonlight. Her eyes were swollen and her cheeks were streaked with tears she didn’t allow him to hear fall. 

He didn’t let himself reach out to her, even though every fiber of his being down to the raw core of his soul wanted to take her in his arms. She wasn’t ready yet. He knew that feeling too. She had respected his pain. It was his turn to respect hers. 

“What you saw last night...the...the blood. It helps sometimes. It’s not normal sleep.  _ Fucking Maker, _ it’s blood magic, how could it be fucking normal, but still, it’s something. I don’t dream. I don’t think I know what the Fade feels like anymore.” She laughed then. Bitter. Exhausted. “Maybe that’s a good thing.”

“You’ve been using blood magic to help you sleep?” He tried to keep his voice as neutral as possible. His shock, he stifled. His anger, he quelled. His sympathy, he put aside for now. For now, he just needed to keep her talking.

“Yes.” Was her only reply. Not a challenge, not an apology, not a justification. Just the truth. “Will you make me tranquil?”

Cullen was shocked again, this time at the sincerity in that question. They both knew what his answer would be, and yet, there was a tiny thread of an actual request in that terrible entreaty.

He knew he should say something now, but nothing he could think of seemed enough. He wanted to be her comfort and her solace, as she had always been for him, but he found himself lacking somehow. He wanted to drag her away back to his farm, battle back her demons, force her suffering away, pull her into the light and make her whole again. His frantic desires for her well-being battled with the more tempered knowledge that she needed to take this first step on her own.

“No, Evelyn.” He put as much steel and finality into his words as he could. This was one door he had no reservations about slamming shut for her. She had to choose to climb upwards herself, but he would let her spiral downwards no further than this.

  
When she started crying this time he heard her and his heart soared that she let him hear. She sat, huddled, looking small and tired and she wept out into the open night. He didn’t try to stop her, but he did allow himself to cover her only hand with his own.


	3. Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we have a flashback chapter showing how Evelyn got to where she ended up in the last chapter crying her eyes out and holding Cullen's hand. I swear this will have a happy ending. I have no idea why I'm writing this, but I'm loving it and it's really bringing my enthusiasm for writing back. So if you're still reading thank you so much for reading!

_Evelyn Trevelyan left Skyhold with her staff, one pack, one horse and one arm. She'd already seen her friends off some time ago. As they all moved on from her she said her goodbyes and offered them a warm smile wishing them well with the Maker's many blessings in the world they helped rebuild together. Each one took with them a small part of her heart, but she would hold the memories of their friendship close. At the time, she thought it would be enough._

_The former Inquisitor hadn't lied when she told the former Spymaster she intended on visiting her ancestral home. With so many new changes and so much hope sprouting up all around, she thought it might be time to make bright again what had been a dark corner of her past since the moment she was taken to the Circle._

_So she made her way to Ostwick._

_The journey was long but she crested the hill overlooking the Trevelyan estate on a sunny morning with an energetic flutter in her chest. The rolling green fields looked untouched by the years since she'd last seen them and the mansion in the distance stood proud and tall._

_She bit her lip when she saw her brother, his boyish smile unmistakable. He was holding close a beautiful woman with hair the color of cornsilk and the two were watching a pair of chubby towheaded toddlers laugh and run and play. Evelyn remembered playing in those fields as a little girl herself, running in circles dreaming of the dashing Knight that she would marry and the babies they would have._

_The Knights that came for her, however, were not what she had dreamed. The Knights that took her away had no castle to bring her to, only a place where the fancies of a little girl were changed into something different, because she was different and always would be._

_Memories clashed in her head as she watched the people down below. The good and the bad. The short-lived and the never-ending. Her heartbeat quickened, her bright new world narrowed and as she stood there, longer and longer, she saw things as they really were._

_The memory of her own carefree laughter mocked her, as this family she didn't know mocked her from afar with the happy moments she would never have, the husband she would never kiss, the babe she would never hold with the limb she no longer had._

_She steeled herself and blinked away unwanted tears. She was stronger than this but after a long journey, it seemed...too much._

_Without even a parting glance or a promise to herself she would return given more time, she set down her staff and left it there on the hillside. Then, she moved on._

_She made her way to Kirkwall._

_The city was comfortable with the friendly and casual air she had always appreciated in its new Viscount. Varric's touch was obvious everywhere. She wandered here and there finding things and places she remembered from his stories. The Hanged Man. The Blooming Rose. The Gallows. The rubble that was once the Chantry. On her way to the Viscount's keep, she passed the Amell estate. It stood pristine, well kept and well cared for by a friend who would always remember its owner who was now lost to the Fade._

_Evelyn steeled herself and blinked away unwanted tears. She was stronger than this but Varric was surely busy, much too busy to see the woman who had sacrificed his best friend and it seemed...too much._

_Her shoulders ached and everything suddenly felt heavy so she set down her pack and left it there on the steps of Hawke's home. Pulling up her hood, Evelyn hung her head and moved on._

_She made her way to Orlais._

_Val Royeaux was thriving, it's empress alive and well, the new Divine providing a humble and steadfast example of hard work and devotion. The city glimmered, glistened and rose up large and lovely all around. Too big and too beautiful perhaps for one weary traveller, her face hidden behind her worn hood and her damaged arm hidden behind her dusty cloak._

_Evelyn led her horse through the streets lost in thought, lost in memories. Each doorway she passed was a decision she had made, each passerby a life that she had once been entrusted with. Good and bad. Right and wrong. When she reached the White Spire she pulled back her hood and looked up at its towering height. The crowd around her was thick and throngs of people brushed past her and her mount, jostling them to and fro. She felt trapped, closed in, hot and tired and the stairs to the Spire where Cassandra's confident aura and supportive friendship now lived were too many and too steep._

_Evelyn steeled herself and blinked against dry eyes. She had once been stronger than this but Cassandra was far away now. A friend from another life and another time and it seemed...too much._

_Her chest was tight and her skin crawled. She needed to be alone. So she left her horse at the steps of the White Spire and moved on._

_Evelyn made her way to Ferelden._

_Days had passed since she'd spoken and more than that since anyone had spoken to her. She skirted around towns, avoided villages and kept to herself. Yet for all the silence, the racket inside her head never ceased. Old pain she thought she'd forgotten resurfaced, times and places that she'd hoped to forget persisted. Desire and regret. Urgency and complacency. Envy, hunger, rage, despair. All these things in spades and more. More and more, louder, louder. Ferelden was vast. Her suffering was more so._

_And her hand burned. The one that wasn't there. Sometimes, she thought she could still see it, the green light that had been forced on her, that she carried with her for so long. Always, she still felt it, crawling up her arm, creeping into her veins, growing, pulling, grasping for a foothold in her soul. When she slept, sometimes she woke with a start thinking she'd gone slack, grown weak and somehow let it consume her. So long she'd had to fight back. Push. Push. Push. Then she would realize it was gone and there was nothing left to fight, but in that moment of fear she was broken._

_She didn't sleep. She walked all night, all day. She walked until she found him._

_Cullen's farm was peaceful with rich soil and fertile fields. It was evening when she stopped and sat amidst the tall grasses at the edge of his property. The air was temperate and the breeze soothing but all she felt was cold wind cutting at her raw nerves. A dog barked in the distance near the cozy farmhouse. She peeked over the wild vegetation and saw his Mabari bounding happily, jumping and following after its master. She saw him, tall and broad, the sun-kissed curls of his hair loose and unkempt. He was smiling. An easy smile, settled, content. He threw a ball out to his pup and the two played like children with no thought to yesterday or tomorrow._

_Evelyn felt old. She couldn't pry her own crazed thoughts away from yesterday and she couldn't see her way past the chaos to tomorrow. She ran her good hand through her hair, tangled and dirty as it was. Scratching at her scalp and rubbing her aching head she could abide it no longer. It was clumsy and it hurt. The dagger she kept in her boot was all she had as she held chunks of the detestable locks in her teeth biting to hold them taut while she ran the blade along the strands as close to the roots as she could manage. It took forever with one hand and not enough sense left in her to see the insanity of it._

_When she was done, she was too exhausted to steel herself and she didn't even blink. Strength was a lie. Seeing him. Wanting him. Needing him. It was...too much._

_She didn't want anyone. She didn't need anyone. So she left the shorn tresses of her hair in his field and moved on._


	4. Dream

Cullen walked through the field behind his farmhouse. Pup was barking happily at his side begging for a game of fetch. The sound of his playfulness was muffled, however, and the normally bright colors of the Ferelden countryside were muted. He looked up to the sky and saw the Black City far in the distance.

He was dreaming. He still had nightmares, though less frequently and they were easier to deal with nowadays. The scene of his new home was not something he'd dreamt of before. He absently threw the ball out in a random direction and Pup ran after it. He tried to remember what he'd been doing before he fell asleep.

_Evelyn_.

He'd been trying to comfort Evelyn. The events of the day rushed back in on him. Evelyn silent. Evelyn crying. Evelyn leaning against him more from exhaustion than by choice and eventually falling asleep on his shoulder. He'd been loath to disturb her, even as uncomfortable as she must have been, lest his smallest movement deny her any rest she could get that didn't involve spilling her own blood. So he sat still, propping her up with his own body and eventually he too must have succumbed to sleep.

Pup came back but he didn't have the ball. In his teeth he held a piece of ribbon. It was faded blue and frayed at the edges. He took it from the dog and held it, studied it and ran it through his fingers. He knew this ribbon. It was the one Evelyn always wore in her hair. He remembered she used to twist the ends of it in her fingers when they stood around the war table at Skyhold arguing or planning. It was the same color as her eyes. He'd spent countless meetings trying not to be distracted by those eyes and the movement of her fingers as they twirled around the ribbon and in her hair. He used to pray that Leliana and Josephine wouldn't notice him staring at her instead of the maps and markers.

"Stay." Cullen ordered the Mabari and it complied, sitting down, content to await its next command. He walked forward, clutching the ribbon in his fist and scanned the area. At the edge of his property, where the weeds swayed with the breeze his eye caught sight of something wispy and dark blowing away on that same wind. He quickened his steps.

It was hair. Dancing about in every direction, long strands, short strands, single strands and handfuls. He ran.

When he reached where it was all coming from he saw Evelyn sitting calmly, nearly hidden by the tall grass. She stared with an empty gaze ahead and didn't acknowledge him at first. In her hand she held a dagger and her head was a mess. She'd nicked her scalp in a few places and blood trickled down from the small cuts. She'd shorn her locks clean away in some spots and in others she'd been less successful.

He was still processing the sight before him when she spoke.

"Did I fall asleep?" She asked. "I can't remember the last time I just...fell asleep."

"Evelyn...what…?" Cullen looked around as if some clue would appear to explain this dream. When he found nothing he looked back down at her, unsure of what to do or say.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I didn't mean to pull you into a dream."

Cullen's head started to spin and he felt all the breath leave his lungs as he put the pieces together, not really wanting to believe them.

"Evelyn," he said carefully, "is this  _your_  dream? How…" he choked on the words but forced them out. "How do you know what my farm looks like? Were you… _were you here_?"

She didn't answer. She just stared at nothing.

He crouched down beside her and snatched the dagger from her hands with an urgency he couldn't explain even to himself. "Evelyn. Tell me."

"Why?" She closed her eyes. "Will knowing I came here change anything? And before you bother to respond the answer is no, Cullen, it won't." She opened her eyes again and this time there was a fire of emotion in them. She kept talking. "It won't change anything.  _Nothing_  changes  _anything_. So what does it  _matter_?"

" _You_  matter, Evelyn." His words sounded small and not enough to combat her assertion of the opposite.

"Do I? I matter as far as I can give. As much as I can be used for a purpose. I was as strong as I needed to be for a very long time, but I don't need to be strong anymore. Frankly, I'm sick of it and I don't have to explain anything to you or anyone else." Petulant now, she drew up her knees and hugged them close to her chest, closing him out with her body language.

This was the most she'd yet spoken to him, her tongue perhaps loosened by the hidden unreality of the Fade, saying things that might not be so easy in the bright light of the real world. He wanted her to continue and he was desperate for her to believe other than the despondent thoughts she was holding close.

"Do you think your strength was all that mattered to everyone?"  _She couldn't believe that. Could she?_

When she answered him, it was a bitter pill to swallow.

"What if I had quit? Or failed? Or just...stopped. I could have. Maker knows, I wanted to. But I didn't. I didn't even consider it. Maybe I should have because no matter what, the more I shouldered and continued to survive, the more I was given to carry. Should you push someone to the edge just because they can take it? If someone is strong does that mean they can't be broken? No reprieve, no respite and when you've used them up they're sent on their way?"

Every pointed question was like a knife in his gut. Each small falter in her voice was a twist of the blade.

"If I was only good for doing what I did then it doesn't matter that I was  _here_ , does it? It doesn't matter where I was, where I am, what I do, it just doesn't matter. It didn't matter for the Hero of Ferelden, it didn't matter for Hawke, it doesn't matter for me. They're both dead and they're better off for it. Should the Hero have stayed alive only to die in the deep roads? And what kind of life did Hawke have on the run before she came to the Inquisition?"

Cullen had nothing with which to counter the sad reality of her logic. He let her continue, though it pained him. She needed to speak her piece. All of it.

"The strong help the weak and must content themselves with the fact that there is no reciprocity. The world takes, it doesn't give back and we move on. Yes Cullen, I was here. I was here and I realized there was no help for me here or anywhere nor would there be ever. So thank you very much for finding me, but it was unnecessary and far too late. I should never have expected to share in the happy endings. That was my mistake, and one I won't make again. If that sounds bitter to you I'm past caring. I'm past counting my blessings. I'm too  _angry_. Too  _sad._ And far too tired."

Her tirade now over, she was silent. Her thin shoulders slumped and her hand came up to run through her mangled hair. Loose ends fell down into her lap. Cullen felt stifled by the heavy weight of Evelyn's heartache in the air. Even at a distance he felt as though he could be swallowed up by it. He shuddered at the thought of her carrying such self-destructive poison inside her for so long. That she hadn't yet succumbed to a demon, using blood stained magic no less, was a testament to her own damning statements. She  _was_  strong. And it was killing her.

It killed him to see it in her, what he'd once held inside himself. Once upon a dark time in his past he wanted so badly to be the weak one, to be spared the pain, the suffering. But instead he endured because  _he_  was strong, moved by a force inside him to not only survive but to  _thrive_. For so long he hated it, hated every weaker soul still alive and hated himself, embittered and lost thinking each day would forever be the same with no way out, no exit, not even the death he'd prayed for more than once. He'd lived in that world for so long, seeing things through a veil of anguish that pride wouldn't let consume him completely.

He could say it was Cassandra who had offered him his way out, and tangibly she had giving him true purpose with his previous command, but it was actually Evelyn who brought him fully back to life. Slowly and with great care, coaxing him away from despair and moving him diligently towards hope, using her steady strength to pull him through.

"You're right Evelyn." She was. She was right about everything. The world took and took and never gave back. Her feelings were valid and they needed acknowledged, but that didn't mean there was no way out.

She looked up at him, eyes wide and swollen with unshed tears. "I...you shouldn't say that." She shook her head, letting shame and guilt for her own feelings creep in. "I should be...better than this...but I just…"

"You're right about the world and how it has,  _how_   _we have_ , failed you. But now, it's time to choose. Is this what you want?" He held out the dagger to her. "Or do you want to come with me?"

He wanted to stop himself from saying what he said next, this needed to be only her choice as finally turning away from lyrium had been his choice alone, but he couldn't stop himself, selfish though it was.

"Evelyn, please,  _please_  I want...I need... _please say you'll come with me_?" His plea was nearly concealed by the sound of the wind and the crickets in the distance. He dropped the dagger in the grass and extended his hand to her.

They looked at each other, not speaking, barely breathing for a long time in their dream until the edges of his vision started to blur. The scene around them wavered and turned to shadow as wakefulness intruded on them. She never answered him, but just before he left the Fade, he felt her take his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm writing this quickly (well, quickly for me at least), just to get back in the groove of writing, so I'm not really obsessing about each chapter or wording or editing, I'm just trying to write for the fun...even though this is horrible angst that I'm having fun with! Anyway, thank you so much for reading. I'm looking forward to turning Evelyn towards happier times now in the next chapter!


	5. Hurt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evelyn's POV this time. Poor thing. I swear she'll get a happy ending. I swear. :) Thank you for reading!

_You're useless sitting here. Why did you even bother to come?_

Evelyn sat in the grass behind Cullen's homestead, this time invited but still very far away.

_Too weak to shape up and too weak to just end it already? That really is something, 'Inquisitor'._

She didn't bother trying to parse out which taunts belonged to the demons she'd let in with her blood magic or the ones that had taken root in her soul long before she'd ever cast those disgusting spells. She couldn't blame the Fade or blood magic on the latter. Those demons spoke with her own voice, born from the dark she harbored inside and held close until Cullen came for her. She wanted to let it go now. She wanted to let it all go but it was  _hard_.

So she sat. Hour upon hour, day after day, redefining her reclusive existence by shutting out the world while watching it move past her. Almost living, but not quite.

_He should have never brought you here. You're not needed. You're not wanted._

Evelyn rubbed her eyes and then ran her hand through her neatly trimmed hair. Their first night on the road together after she made the decision to let him lead her off the path she'd been stumbling down, he helped her cut away the ragged strands and make it nearly presentable again. At least so she'd imagined. She had yet to look in a mirror. It was easier not knowing for sure what she'd come to look like and it frightened her even more to think she might see a bit of who she once was staring back at her trapped behind the thing she'd become.

_That's it. Keep wallowing. Things may not get worse, but they certainly won't get better._

And that's what terrified her. More than the phantom pain in her arm, more than the sleep deprivation, more than the demons squawking inside her head. What terrified her was  _this_. Sitting here. Sitting here and thinking that this was all that was left and all that was ever going to exist for her. That she would just keep living, that Cullen's presence would give her just enough motivation to walk the thin line between  _lost_  and  _found_  but she would never find a way to  _feel_  better, to feel  _good_.

_There's nothing left to feel good about. You should leave._

But she was too scared to leave. So she sat alone in a field, stubbornly keeping the world at a distance while holding her brooding thoughts close.

Cullen's Templars,  _former Templars_ , who were also seeking sanctuary here under the former Commander's beneficence let her keep to herself for the most part. She recognized some, others she did not, some recognized her. One young man who looked too fresh faced to have seen much of the war, or to have been leashed to the Chantry's lyrium for too long approached her when she arrived and asked her if she was the Inquisitor. She said no. Cullen frowned,  _worst Wicked Grace face ever_ , but he said nothing.

She worked up enough self-respect to argue when Rylen offered to vacate his room for her. She'd gone as far as sleeping outside her first night in residence to prove she would not accept his inconvenience on her account. He bunked with Cullen anyway and the room was left vacant. The next night she moved in. Stubborn Templars were more stubborn than her it seemed.

When she ate, she ate alone. Unless Cullen found her and sat with her. Sometimes he would remain silent and they would just eat staring into their bowls, sometimes he would talk, even if she didn't respond, about nothing mostly. The farm. The weather. His dog. It was infuriatingly pointless but she always listened, grateful, as memories from another time would come back to her. Memories of when she sat across from him at a chess table or his desk, prattling on about the same nothings. Memories of when he was the one silent and hurting and probably grateful.

When she slept,  _when she was able to sleep_ , it was always next to him. He would come to her in the evenings here in the grass and sit with her until the moons were high and the day was done. Only then could she find sleep. It would come upon her unexpectedly, so near to him her body would act on its own entranced by his steady presence, his warmth, his strength and she would lean on him and drift into the Fade. When that happened she always awoke in the morning in her appropriated bed, knowing he'd carried her there, hating that she just couldn't seem to remember how to be  _normal_.

_It isn't that you can't remember. It's that you never were. You just can't hide it anymore._

She rolled her eyes and sighed at the relentless perseveration of her own thoughts. She was considering finding another spot to sit, for no reason other than she hadn't moved in hours, when she saw Cullen walking towards her. His form was silhouetted by the setting sun and the sight made her heart skip a beat and then it sank; a mix of both anticipation and shame. The aura he wore was like the sunset, deep purple, deep gold, rich colors, warm colors that always threatened to disarm her, strip from her the cold colors of indifference that clung to her like a second skin, ineffectively concealing her pain and only barely protecting what was left of her dignity.

"I need to ask you for a favor." He said casually as he sat down next to her, leaning back on his hands.

"I...uh...of course, I'm...yes, anything."

_And to think you were once important you stuttering fool._

He chuckled and she cringed.

_You're just another one of his charity cases._

"Well, you don't have to say yes before you know what I'm asking. In fact, I'm fully expecting you to refuse, but I'm still going to ask."

"I can't keep living here on charity, Cullen, suffocating the grass under my useless arse. Whatever you want, I'll do it."

_Well that was a bitter offer of help if ever there was one. How does he keep tolerating you?_

He shrugged. "Alright then. I need you to get up off that arse of yours and start knocking some of these Templars on theirs."

"I... _what_?"

Cullen smiled. It was a dangerous thing, his smile. It always had been for her. There were times in the past when his smile was like an eclipse, rare and fleeting, but blinding if she stared too long. Now his smile was easy, ready, willing. She wished…

_What? What do you wish? You can't possibly still think you'll ever get anything you wish for?_

Cullen explained patiently. "Some of them are ready to fly away from our little nest here and I think it's important for them to learn how to fight and defend themselves without the lyrium. And for those still struggling with it, well, it always helped me when we sparred together." Another smile, warm with memories. It made her heart ache to see it.

_You used to be better than this. Does it sadden him too, how far you've fallen?_

She squeezed her eyes shut and brought her hand up to cover her ear. So much talking inside her head. And she always had one uncovered ear left to hear it now.

Cullen leaned in close, his words soft now but more intent, concerned. "Evelyn, if you'd rather not…"

"No, it's fine, I will." She shook off the voices and then she remembered. Funny how she hadn't given it a thought until now. "Oh, but...I...I forgot, I don't have my staff any longer..."

_Or your arm..._

"Yes, I noticed."

She said nothing, waiting for the question she wasn't sure she was going to answer yet. She'd never elaborated on where else she'd traveled and what else she'd done before her secret visit to him that she admitted to in their shared dream. Some hurt was easier to keep covered, even if it meant it would never heal.

When he spoke again, it wasn't to ask her where or when she'd abandoned her staff and her pride.

"Sometimes healing hurts more than the actual hurt, Evelyn. This I know." At that, he rose and started walking away, adding over his shoulder, "Dorian left a staff for you. It's in my office."


	6. Break

Evelyn stood in Cullen's office staring at the staff Dorian left for her. It rested proudly on a weapons rack next to the former Commander's broadsword like it had been there forever. Like it belonged there.

It was more slender and a bit shorter than her old staff, crafted from a single piece of solid obsidian. She ran one finger down its length. It was cool to the touch and the enchantments on it sang to her but the melody was dissonant after so long without tuning her magic to a fighting focus. Secured to the top was a curved blade of silverite with an intricate etching of a dragon carved into the surface of the metal. It was almost too beautiful to use. She would have expected no less of a gift from Dorian.

_I miss him. I miss them all…_

It was a small desire, a strange wish, wanting to spend time with friends again. She'd thought herself past that. In fact, it felt better when she thought she was past that. She still couldn't say for sure why she was here. Why she was on this farm, why she was standing in this office, why she was with Cullen. Somehow she could accept him at the boundaries of her solitude, but only him.

In fact, she mused, he was just like his stalwart broadsword, standing in unobtrusive vigil next to a staff that was collecting dust and becoming more useless by the day. And she, like the staff she just convinced herself she wasn't going to pick up, would continue to be useful only in the setting of dust collecting. Better to leave the thing were it was. Both the staff and her misplaced desire to reminisce. If she sought them out, her old companions would want things. Perhaps nothing tangible as she had nothing left to give in that regard, but they would want to know where she'd been, how she was, what had happened. She didn't care to tell them and it wasn't for them to know anyway.

She decided some time ago that she would rather miss a memory than to try and build new ones on a foundation of sand. Everything around her was sand. She could almost feel it between her toes. There was nothing for her ridiculous desires to take root in. No foothold in which her needs could find purchase. So it was easiest to continue to need nothing. Easier to withdraw. Easier to walk away.

Which she tried to do to the staff. She turned on her heel, meaning to walk out of the office and away from the gift she had no business taking, but instead she ran into Cullen. She looked up, fully expecting him to move so she could pass, but he didn't.

She was almost about to feel frustrated at being penned in when all she wanted to do was go back outside and continue to search her head for silence, but she supposed now was as good a time as any to tell him she had to refuse his request to help 'train' his wayward Templars.

' _Former' Templars. You know something about that. Being 'formerly' something. Formerly many things in fact. Do you even remember anymore?_

She folded her arms across her chest and tilted her head stubbornly, more so at the annoying bent of her own thoughts than at Cullen. Either way, these 'former' Templars would have to find their fighting form again without her assistance and she was about to say exactly that when a breeze blew in from the open window in the corner and she caught a whiff of his scent.

He smelled of sweat and sunshine and the wild Ferelden grasses that grew in abundance around the house. It dazed her for a moment. The... _feeling_  it gave her. The memories.

_So you do remember?_

It appeared to be a day for unexpected stirrings of emotion. Admiring gifts, missing old friends, simple wants and impulses she'd long thought dead. She found herself wanting to lean into him to catch more of the scent in her nose.

_What foolishness._

Cullen gestured to the staff, "Dorian said it's quite light and should be easy enough to maneuver with one hand. I know you favored casting with your right and using your staff with your left, so you'll have to adjust."

The nagging at the back of her head persisted, almost in defiance of the ridiculous fancies that seemed to be plaguing her today.  _Who is he to tell you what you "have to" do?_

"I'm perfectly capable of using a staff with my right hand, I just didn't like casting with my left when I had the Mark."  _Why are you explaining this?_ "It…" She shrugged the shoulder of her amputated arm trying to shake away the pins and needles pricking her beyond where the appendage ended. "It hurt."  _It still does._

"Mm." Cullen looked down at her arm. He frowned and nodded his head as if he understood.

_He doesn't. And what kind of a response is that, anyway? Can he say nothing helpful?_

"Oh for Maker's sake, shut up!" Evelyn snapped out loud at the infuriating voice in her head through clenched teeth. That particular barb wasn't from a demon. It was all her. Her and her doubts and her anger and her bitterness and she was  _so annoyed_  and frankly  _sick to fucking death of it all_.

Cullen's eyes went wide and he stuttered, "I...uh...I'm sorry…"

"No! Not you!" Evelyn waved her hand as if it would erase her crazy outburst. "It's...not you…" She shook her head. "Just...never mind."

With an irritated and very audible huff, she turned, reached out and grabbed the staff from its resting place.

"Fine! There!" She exclaimed holding the thing in a death grip.

Cullen was clearly confused at the conversation she was having with herself that he seemed to think he was a part of.

"Fine…?" He echoed.

And she was annoyed by that too. "Yes, it's fine, everything is fine, I have a staff now, so let's just go alright?" She pushed past him, holding her breath so she didn't have remember what he smelled like.

_So much for refusing..._

There was a small group of Templars already sparring in a field opposite Evelyn's spot behind the house. The sun was high and hot and it looked like they were feeling it on top of whatever other Maker forsaken symptoms they were likely suffering. There was no lyrium to be found here and it was clear they were feeling that too.

Evelyn stomped across the grass and made her way over to them. She sensed Cullen following at a respectful, and safe, distance behind her, clear of the staff that swung forward and back in synchrony with her long strides as she held it in her right hand.

The longer she held the staff, the more accepting of it she was becoming. Or at least it was no longer part of her heated annoyance. In fact, she thought with a small amount of satisfaction, it was soon to be the vessel by which she would expunge some of that annoyance.

Rylen was the first to acknowledge her. He smiled warmly but there were still shadows under his eyes. She knew he'd been off lyrium the longest among his bretheren aside from Cullen and yet he still looked tired. "Care for a match?" He asked as he lifted his sword and shield. "A bit of exercise does wonders I think, Your Worship."

And those were the words that broke her.  _Your Worship._   _Fuck them and their 'worship'. Fuck this and every Maker damned day that she was forced to endure. Fuck the dead end of her life and the path that got her here._

"Don't  _fucking_  call me that!" She snarled, a beast inside her bursting free. She leveled her staff against the former Knight-Captain and it vibrated with magic she'd forgotten she possessed. When she attacked him, she wasn't just attacking him. She was attacking... _everything_.

She'd been eroding slowly over time, crumbling away, but this felt like something inside her had suddenly snapped. White hot anger flared before her eyes and a private scream inside her head exclaimed over and over that she was  _done_. She could not abide for one more agonizing second the sadness that was strangling her. A small barely sane part of her knew this would ultimately come to nothing, that her world would not miraculously change just because she picked up a staff again. But she didn't care. She  _needed_  this. Finally she needed something other than to be left alone. She needed to break something as she was broken.

So she would break these Templars as they had broken her spirit when she was a child. She would break them the way she was broken by war, when the Circle she'd learned to call home was broken. She would break them the way the Mark had broken her, the way Solas had broken her. Her physical form, her thoughts, her heart, all torn, fractured, trampled. How broken could someone be and yet still live? Just look to Evelyn Trevelyan.

On and on it went. She couldn't rightfully say when Rylen had ducked out of her relentless onslaught and passed her off onto another poor lyrium deprived soul. She could sense some of them still trying to combat her magic with their blunted Templar abilities. She felt it but she didn't care about that either.

Sweat poured down her face, magic poured from her staff, rage poured out of her very being. Though it escaped her notice, thick and heavy clouds had rolled in, the now low riding sun was blotted out and fat drops of rain started to pour out of the sky. Thunder boomed in the distance and she was soaked to the bone, but there was no slowing her or stopping her.

Eventually the last Templar left to face her madness was Cullen, but even he wasn't spared. He stayed out there with her, suffering both the storm of nature and the storm of her. If she'd had her wits about her, she would have noted how he used what was left of his magic-negating power to protect himself from her wild and dangerous casting and not to subdue her. She might have seen the pained set of his jaw as he took the brunt of her too-strong and reckless spells. She would have heard his steadfast silence as he let her try to wipe clean the sorrow of years and the helplessness of life.

When she had no mana left and her body collapsed out from under her in exhaustion, he was there to catch her. They settled in the muddied grass, both too spent to move. The deluge eventually passed and the clouds parted to reveal a night sky filled with stars. For a very long time she could do nothing but pant and be limp in his arms.

"This doesn't change anything." She mumbled when she finally caught her breath. Was she telling him? Or telling herself? Or was it actually a question she wanted an answer to?

"No, it doesn't change anything. It never does, Evelyn. But," she could hear a smile transform his voice even though she couldn't see it, "it felt good, didn't it?"

She hoped he heard the smile in her own voice when she spoke. "It  _did_."


	7. Sleep

Evelyn wandered the farm looking for Cullen. She had fallen asleep the previous night, after her cathartic sparring session, without any kind of pomp, circumstance, or blood magic. As he'd done before, Cullen carried her back to her room. She woke filthy, muddy, bruised, sore and  _rested_.

After she cleaned up, she made the decision to find him and...well, after that she didn't know. She just felt like finding him and it was nice to wake up for once  _wanting_  to do something.

She passed the stables and walked down into one of the far pastures. There was a small out building in the distance she'd yet to explore, not that she'd done much exploring since she arrived.

When she approached she saw Rylen sitting on a rickety chair outside of what looked like a worn old storage shed. He was keeping watch over a makeshift moonshine still. The thing was cheerfully billowing smoke up into the sky and the former Knight-Captain was cheerfully sipping from a jug with his feet propped up on a tree stump. He waved her over. As she drew closer she noticed he wore an ugly black and blue reminder of their match yesterday right across his face.

"You broke my nose." He said casually.

"I...I  _did_?" She was mortified. She was about to offer profuse apologies when she realized it was also nice to feel that kind of reaction. Any kind of reaction. To feel anything novel at all that wasn't her relentless never ending misery.

"Aye." He smiled and nodded his head. He took another swig from the jug and then offered it to her.

"Isn't it a bit early?" She asked with a dubious glance at the shifty set up.

He rolled his eyes, cocked an eyebrow at her, then offered it up again. She sighed and took a sip. The noxious brew burned the whole way down her throat and into her chest. She found she liked the feeling of that too. Passing the jug back to him, she started a proper apology.

"I'm so sorry Ser Rylen. My behavior was inexcusable, I hope you know that I…"

He interrupted her with laughter, his still tired-looking eyes crinkling at the corners in lighthearted amusement. "It's been broken more than once before, lass, I actually meant to thank you for the good fight. It's been a while. And don't feel too bad. I got in a few good hits of my own that I'm sure you're feeling this morning as well. You were just a mite too wild in the head to notice yesterday." He leaned back in his chair, exuding a relaxed attitude and an ease of spirit. "Looking for Cullen?"

"Yes, I was. Do you know where he is?"

"Had to go into town for the day. Won't be back 'til late. Said if you needed him sooner you're welcome to a horse. You could ride into town yourself to see him."

Evelyn scoffed. "Well, it's lucky I don't need anything because we both know  _that_  isn't going to happen." She grabbed back the moonshine and helped herself to another sip.

Rylen shrugged. "Can't say I blame you. People are...well, they're  _people_. Sometimes I miss my little oasis in the desert."

Evelyn narrowed her eyes at him. "You miss  _Griffon Wing Keep_? Are you serious? That place was a death trap in the middle of the Maker forsaken desert. You know, for a long time I thought Cullen sent you there as some kind of punishment."

Carefree laughter erupted again from the former commander of Griffon Wing Keep. "It was remote, quiet and on any given day I'll take a pack of varghests over  _people_. People are exhausting all the time. Varghests are only exhausting until you kill them. And they're not bad eating. The Varghests. Not people, obviously."

Evelyn just stared at him, mouth hanging open, too confused to think of anything to say in reply.

Rylen got up from his chair with a wince, suggesting the bruise on his face wasn't the only one he suffered yesterday. "So, if you'll just be waiting for Cullen then feel free to sit here. You can keep an eye on this contraption while I go take a piss. Make sure it doesn't explode." He walked off around the back of the shed, leaving Evelyn staring at the still.

_At least you're being useful._

So, she sat. Rylen returned promptly, carrying another chair with him, and he sat back down. They were silent for a short while, watching the grasses sway in the breeze, watching the birds cross the sky and passing the jug between them. Another very short while later, they were drunk.

"Your man's an arse." Rylen's speech slurred a little, his brogue catching on the words.

"What?" Evelyn blinked and tried to focus on her drinking companion's blurry bruised face.

"Cullen. I've told him that, you know. Several times. He should have begged you to have him way back then." He waved his hand to emphasize a distant time point in the past. "He should have apologized for being an arse and then begged you to have him after the war. He should have gotten on his sanctimonious knees and groveled after we disbanded. But he didn't. He's an arse." Rylen took a deep pull from the jug and then wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

"Ah well. If you live life not regretting anything, you haven't lived much, eh? And I like to think every day I'm still living is a chance to go back and fix things. Or at least find a way to stop making them worse. Can't go back to before I took my vows but it feels damn good not taking the lyrium now. When it doesn't feel like I'm dying that is."

Rylen stood and gave the now empty jug back to Evelyn. "Feel free to fill it up again if you dare. As for me, I think this is going to fast become a very vivid regret." He held a hand to his stomach as if to try and convince it to keep hold of his breakfast. Before he turned and left her, he added one thing. "It's none of my business but I'd appreciate it if you could push him along a little with the whole 'begging you to have him' thing. I'd like my room back sometime soon."

Evelyn didn't respond. She wasn't even sure she would begin to know how to respond to whatever that bizarre interaction was she just had. She didn't fill the jug, but she did continue to sit there until midday when the sun was high in the sky.

Struck by another strange motivation, she got up and went back to the field where the Templars usually trained, where she had joined them last night. Her staff was propped up against an old fence next to an assortment of swords used for practice. There was no one around, but she took up her weapon and went through her forms alone, working out the kinks and tightness in her muscles from yesterday's exertions. She went on like this for a long time, a pleasant quietude filling her head as she focused on her breathing and her position, the balance of her staff and the living pulse of her magic.

_Living. She felt alive._

Just after sunset, another storm came and forced her inside. She didn't want to quit her exercises but she also wasn't in the mood to get drenched again. And she was hungry. She made her way to the large kitchen, grateful it was also empty. She managed to pull together a simple meal for herself.  _And it smelled good._

No sooner had she tucked in than a soaking wet Rylen stomped through the door from outside. He shook himself off like a dog and sat down across from her at the table. He helped himself to the extra food.

"Mind if I join you?" His mouth was already full.

"Doesn't seem like I have much of a choice." She said wryly.

"Nope." He said around another mouthful. "By the way, I'm calling in what you owe me."

"What?"

He pointed to his nose and smiled. "You owe me. I'm collecting. I want my room back tonight. You can sleep in Cullen's room. He won't ride back through that storm out there. He'll stay in town tonight most likely and come back in the morning. So, the place is free for the taking."

"You'll recall I didn't want to displace you from your room in the first place." She said defensively.

"Hahaha calm down, lass, I was happy to do it but tonight I've organized a game of Wicked Grace to enjoy along with that moonshine you helped me tend this morning and I'm fairly certain Cullen would rather  _you_  bunk down in his room than half a dozen drunken sods passed out after a night of gambling. So I'll take my room back just for tonight then I'll hand it over to you again. That is unless you want to join us? For the game. Not me and Cullen in his bedroom. I mean, I'm not saying I wouldn't. I could be convinced."

"No. Thank you." She wasn't sure what she was saying 'no' to. Probably everything. And she probably said it quickly enough to be considered rude but it had been ages since she'd spoken with anyone besides Cullen as much as she'd spoken with Rylen today. Working through some pent up anger on the training ground was one thing. Making small talk over cards was quite another. She could lie awake in Cullen's room as easily she could in any other. "It's all yours."

After finishing an awkward meal together, where Rylen prattled on and on about nothing, she immediately went to bed. She couldn't decide if it was listening to all the talking that had her so exhausted or if it was the physical activity from that afternoon. Either way, even if she couldn't find sleep she wanted to lie down. Slowly opening the door to Cullen's room, she paused for a moment before entering.

_That smell again._

Closing her eyes she inhaled deeply, letting herself indulge, then she stepped in and shut the door behind her. The space was neat but full and lived-in. Both the cot in the corner, where she imagined Rylen slept, and Cullen's bed were made up with military corners on the sheets.

_You can take the Templar out of the Order…_

Evelyn tiptoed and kept both her good arm and the amputated one tucked in close to her body as if she was trying not to disturb anything, but her intention to not be disruptive was quickly abandoned when she realized the window by the bed was wide open and a puddle from the downpour outside was collecting on the floor beneath it.

She closed the shutters and found a few towels to mop up the mess. She'd heard once that the tower Cullen used to sleep in back at Skyhold had a hole in the roof he purposely never got fixed. She remembered she used to think she'd see it in person one day and then she would ask him why. She never did get invited up there.

_Did he always leave his window open? Was it for the same reason he never had the roof fixed? You should ask him._

Ignoring her curiosity, that she couldn't act on right now even if she wanted to, she kicked off her shoes and sat in the large, soft-looking chair by the bed. It  _was_  soft and she snuggled into it.

Her eyes roamed over the rest of the room while she sat, listening to the rain beat against the closed shutters. There was a sizable cushion on the floor in a corner with a chewed up stuffed toy on top of it.

_Of course his dog sleeps in here, he's a Fereldan._

A chess set sat on the footstool in front of her. On the dresser, three different combs were set out in a neat row next to a shaving razor. And hung on a rack by the door was his old red mantle that he used to wear against the cold of the Frostbacks.

On an impulse she got up and retrieved it. When she wrapped it around herself and settled back into the chair, it was warm as she expected, but it was also... _comforting_. It smelled like him, of course, but it also  _felt_  familiar. She remembered how confident she always thought he looked when he wore it and thinking of those times, it reminded her of a time when she too felt confident.

Cradled in the comfort of Cullen's room, nestled inside his cloak, she felt confident letting her memories flow freely. When normally she fought hard to push them away, scenes of battle, defeat, loss, despair always becoming too much too quickly for her, this time she recalled other things.

Laughter. Belonging. Pride. Victory. She'd known her share of those things too. Why then were they so hard to remember sometimes, overshadowed by the darker scenes and all the pain? She remembered days when she genuinely thanked the Maker she was still alive. Why then did she lament each new sunrise that found her still living now? She didn't  _want_  to. She wanted to greet each day as if there was something she could make of it. Like today. Her day wouldn't have amounted to much for someone else perhaps. It wouldn't have even amounted to much for who she used to be. But it had been a  _good_  day.

Lulled by this unexpected respite from the heavy weight of her negative emotions, her eyelids grew heavy. Her thoughts grew foggy. The sound of the rain grew distant and before she knew it, curled up on a chair in Cullen's room, she was asleep.


	8. Cake

It _killed_ him to leave her that morning. After she exhausted herself sparring, _and exhausted him_ , he carried her to her bed and watched her sleep for just a few moments before he too retired. In the morning, he left to ride into town. And it _killed_ him.

Since the moment he brought her home, _and he couldn't stop himself from thinking of the farm as their shared home_ , he hadn't been any farther than shouting distance from her. Even when he left her alone to give her time and much needed space, he always knew where she was just in case she needed him.

It wasn't as if she needed a keeper, a grown and capable woman, a skilled mage and fighter, but he knew there was a part of her emerging that _did_ need him in some small way, needed the comfort of him, the familiarity of him. He liked being needed. He wanted to be her comfort and her familiar foundation. She was that for him. He saw it now so clearly since she was back in his daily life. He needed her. Certainly he too was capable, certainly he was _well_ now as he hadn't been when he struggled with the lyrium but even so, he liked needing her and he wanted her to feel the same way about him.

They'd both seen dark places where it seemed wiser to retreat from the company of others, to withdraw and fall deeper into sorrow, but that was no way to heal and move on. She'd shown him that, now he hoped he was showing her the same. They'd both known joy and pain in solitude and now they had both shared pain with one another. He wanted the chance to share _joy_ with her too.

In short, _he loved her_. Utterly. Madly. He hoped _not_ hopelessly. And so, _it killed him_ to leave her that morning just when it seemed she'd come to a turning point. But he knew very well he should go. He had to go, both for practical purposes and because she still likely needed some time to think things through. And Rylen basically shoved him onto a horse and pushed him down the road anyway, also knowing it was the best thing for him to go, so it hardly mattered. He left.

And now he was riding back in the middle of the _fucking_ night, in a _fucking_ thunderstorm because he was a lovesick fool and couldn't talk himself into the more logical decision of waiting until morning to go home. His dog hadn't spoken to him since they left town and wouldn't even deign to look at him. The poor Pup just followed along behind him on his horse, who also wasn't happy about getting drenched. He was being ridiculous. Even the animals saw it.

_Maker's breath, you're an arse._

He'd be lucky if Evelyn didn't laugh at him when he arrived. He wished she would laugh at him, actually. He'd do anything to hear her laugh again.

It was so late when he and Pup finally sloshed into the house, trailing muddy puddles behind them, that all was silent, even those Templars still suffering with the worst of the nightmares. When he got to his room he slowly opened the door, not wanting to rouse Rylen. It wasn't a sleeping Templar he saw, however, but a sleeping mage, _a sleeping Evelyn,_ curled up in his chair wrapped in his old cloak. And snoring.

He looked down at Pup and gestured for the dog to back out of the room. He backed out as well and closed the door without a sound then he pressed his ear to it to make sure he still heard the soft snores coming from inside. Pup growled low and Cullen would swear the dog rolled his eyes at him before the beast reluctantly sat down right in the hallway and promptly fell asleep.

Cullen stood there, wet, cold, tired, sore and happier than he'd ever been. He didn't know how she ended up in his room sleeping, but she was sleeping, and soundly at that, with no help from him, unless his worn old cloak could be considered a sleeping aid.

He didn't quite know what to do with himself now. If she was in his room, it was possible Rylen was back in his old room. He could look for somewhere else to bed down for the rest of the night, but he found he couldn't walk away, so he just stared at the door and listened to her sleep. Eventually, he sat down next to Pup and he let the music of the rain and the feeling of Evelyn's presence just a few feet away carry him into the Fade.

He felt like he'd only just closed his eyes when they were jarred open by the nudge of a boot to his flank. He startled and bolted upright, trying to get his bearings. The sun was shining outside. Birds were chirping. Evelyn stood in the doorway of his room and looked down at him impassively. Pup stood, seeming to look down at him despite the fact that he was actually looking up and Rylen stood, looking like he was going to try to kick him again.

"She's up." His friend said as he jerked his thumb in Evelyn's direction. The two nodded at each other, then Rylen walked off down the hallway.

Cullen straightened his still damp and rumpled clothes. "Evelyn, I'm...uh…"

"Did you ride back last night?"

"Yes...I did…" _Like an arse._ He wanted to walk away and pretend he wasn't just caught sleeping like the arse that he was outside her door, but then something happened.

She smiled.

It was like...it was like nothing he could put to words. _She smiled._ It was a small thing, and he almost thought she didn't even realize she was doing it, but it was a smile nonetheless. He was dumbfounded and elated and he felt an idiotic glee-filled grin tug at his own lips.

"Rylen kicked me out of his room so he could get drunk and gamble, so I slept in here last night. If I'd known you were coming home…"

"No." Cullen waved off her apology. "No, please...it's alright, I was going to stay in town to wait out the storm but then…" What was he supposed to say? _But then I realized I'd rather be near you than warm and dry?_ He was…

"You're an arse." Evelyn finished his thought for him, more bluntly than he would have preferred to hear aloud, but it was true.

Pup barked in agreement.

"No one asked your opinion." He mumbled at the dog.

"Well, you should change into some dry clothes. Thanks for letting me sleep in your room." Evelyn turned to look back inside, her brow furrowed. "I never even made it to the bed, I was just so comfortable and it felt…" Her words drifted off as she seemed to contemplate the novelty of regular sleep.

"It's alright." He reassured her, still smiling. "I'm glad." He decided to take a chance. "I...um...I actually will have to ride back into town to finish up some business today. Do you...want to come with me?"

He waited for a long time before she replied. She looked at him, then back inside the bedroom. She looked down at Pup, then down the hall where Rylen disappeared. Finally she answered, with clear purpose and a determined nod of her head.

"Yes."

They rode together, on a different horse than he forced to ride all night in the rain, and without Pup who, once allowed back into his bedroom, immediately laid down on his cushion and refused to move.

Evelyn sat behind him, holding casually onto his waist and was content to listen to him talk the whole way. He pointed out a few things along road, told a few stories about the area, rambled on about the weather and was generally boring enough that he was surprised she didn't fall back to sleep. When he could think of nothing else to say, he shut up and they both enjoyed the silence for a while, until Evelyn decided to speak.

"Why do you need three combs?"

"Uh... _what_?"

"And why do you leave your window open? I had to clean up a huge puddle. The floorboards are going to rot if you keep that up. Is it the same reason you never got your roof fixed back at Skyhold? Do all Fereldan's really let their dogs sleep in their bedrooms? Do you always make your bed so neatly?"

Cullen stopped the horse and turned to face Evelyn. Her eyes were wide and... _inquisitive_. There was a tiny spark of something behind them when, sadly, he'd grown accustomed to seeing nothing but a wall of indifference there.

He took a deep breath and answered her very seriously. "In reverse order: Yes. Yes. Yes. I don't like feeling closed in. And: I just do."

She appeared to very seriously consider his responses. "Hm." Nodding her head, as if in approval, she turned her gaze back to the countryside.

They continued their ride and passed a few more homesteads and a few lazy clouds. She spoke again.

"Rylen is sensible. And really inappropriate."

Cullen laughed. "He is both of those things, yes. Dare I ask?"

"Ask _him_." She said with a bit of a bite. "I'm sure he'd tell you."

_She was_ talking _. She'd been talking to Rylen. She was talking with him now. They were_ talking _._

Cullen wore his idiot grin all the way into town. He didn't even care if Evelyn saw it. They stabled the horse and strolled around the market. She even wandered off by herself for a little while, then wandered back around to join him again. The bulk of the materials he ordered the previous day for the addition to the house he was planning were being delivered, but he still had some small odds and ends to acquire. If the deliveries made it to the farm today he hoped Rylen wasn't so hung over that he couldn't take stock and organize things. Cullen hoped to spend as much time out with Evelyn as she wanted.

"I have to stop at the apothecary." He announced. "We're running low on elfroot and ginger draughts."

"I used to bring you ginger draughts." Evelyn reminisced.

"Where do you think I learned about it?" Cullen gave her a smirk. "The men appreciate your knowledge in helping their nausea even if they don't know it came from you."

Cullen pushed open the door to the apothecary, inhaling the pleasantly astringent odor of brewing potions. The shop was dimly lit and cool inside. Evelyn followed him in and started browsing the shelves as he walked up to the counter. There was a man tending to the bookkeeping that he'd never met before. Cullen could sense he was a mage.

The owner of the shop had a sister who'd been a mage. She died at Kinloch Hold during the blight. Cullen knew her and the kind-hearted shopkeeper actually thanked Cullen once for surviving so that there was at least one other person in the world who would remember her.

Subsequently, now that there were free mages looking for work, the man often hired them on wanting to give as many as possible the opportunity to start a new life, as his sister would never be able to do. Cullen always made it a point to bring his business to this particular shop.

"Good morning serah, I put in an order for a few things yesterday that I was hoping to pick up." Cullen was amicable enough but the man looked up from his books only to shoot daggers at Cullen with his eyes. An aura of angry magic rose up making Cullen clench his fists reflexively. He sensed Evelyn behind him turn to pay attention to the interaction.

"Get out _Templar_." The man hissed. "The owner isn't here and I don't follow orders from _your_ _kind_ any more."

Cullen took a deep breath. "I haven't been a Templar for years. And no one is ordering you to do anything, but I understand. I'll come back another time."

It was rare in these parts that Cullen met with any prejudice against his previous calling. He didn't know what this person's life had been and it was easier to walk away than to unjustly judge back at the man and start something. _This was a good day._ He didn't need it ruined by old hate. On a strange impulse, Cullen took Evelyn's hand to lead her out of the shop. He could tell she was surprised by his action. He squeezed her fingers, and it felt _nice, secure, solid._ He hadn't noticed the flutter of anxiety in his stomach brought on by the unpleasant moment just now until it drifted away at her touch. She squeezed his hand back.

As they exited, the mage shouted after them. "Don't ever come back when I'm here, _Templar_! I'll be damned before I help one of you good-for-nothings!"

Evelyn stopped cold right in the doorway. She let go of Cullen's hand and he could almost hear her grind her teeth. Her lips were pursed into a frown and her eyes were narrowed in contempt. She spun on her heels and turned back towards the man. She stalked with heavy steps right up to the counter. The man straightened and the two stood eye-to-eye.

When she spoke her voice was low and proud. "You _would_ be damned if it wasn't for this man, you self-righteous prick! We all would be. Damned to oblivion. You don't know him or what he's suffered or what he's accomplished. I can assure you, it's a lot more than your sorry arse! How dare you treat him like that. How dare you treat _anyone_ like that!"

If it were Cullen, he would have backed down quick, but he had the benefit of knowing the strong and imposing person Evelyn truly was. The man wasn't so fortunate to have that knowledge so he wasn't about to back down.

"What do you know about anything?" He waved his hands dismissively at the former Inquisitor. "You don't know what we suffered at their hands! Who are you to judge me?"

Cullen wanted to feel bad for the man at the hornet's nest he just poked but it was wonderful seeing Evelyn with such heated purpose again. He absently thought he should probably try to intervene, but he decided to just remain silent instead.

" _Who am I?"_ Evelyn said each word slowly and dangerously through clenched teeth. She raised her good hand and let a small fireball spark to life inside it. "I'm a _mage_ , you fool, and I've suffered more than you know." Evelyn extinguished her flame and lowered her hand. "Now do us all a favor and take your shameful self to the back there and get this very patient _former_ Templar his order so we can bid you good day and leave you to your ignorance."

The other mage was apparently not opposed to taking orders from Evelyn. He disappeared into the back of the shop with a huff and emerged with a box full of clanking bottles. He held it out to Evelyn but then pulled it back when he finally took notice of her amputated arm.

"Oh...sorry…" He mumbled with his first hint of reluctant remorse. "I uh, I didn't…"

Evelyn snached the box away from him and balanced it expertly in one arm. With a disgusted grunt and a shake of her head she turned to leave. Cullen held the door open for her as she stormed out of the shop. He offered the man a 'good day to you' nod before he followed her.

Cullen fell into step beside her, trying to hide a smile by bringing his arm up to rub the back of his neck. "Thanks for that. And it's good to finally see you again Evelyn."

She stopped. He stopped too, worried that what he said was too glib. She handed him the box, which he took from her, and he waited. She looked at him very earnestly before she spoke.

"Can we go and get something to eat? Like cake? Cake sounds good, doesn't it?"

She walked away, presumably to find cake. He hurried to catch up. Cake _did_ sound good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cake is healthier than moonshine, right?


	9. Dive

Evelyn ate cake, and her appetite started coming back to her. She slept, sometimes leaned up against Cullen and sometimes on her own. She helped the Templars work on the addition to the house and she sat in her field often, thinking. She thought about the hole she felt in her chest. She could almost hear the wind whistle through it sometimes, so much of her attention did it claim when she was alone.

She knew the contours of her invisible wound, right where her heart used to be, all the edges of it, some rough, some scarred over, some still red and sore. It didn't exactly hurt her anymore to acknowledge it's presence but it didn't exactly feel good either.

There were some things that felt good now. She liked sneaking a drink with Rylen behind the old storage shed. He was, more often than not, ridiculous and it made her feel ridiculous, which helped more than she would have thought. The man knew the wisdom of not taking oneself, or life, or anything really, too seriously.

She liked sparring with the Templars. She could see the holes in their chests too and she knew they could see hers. They were all trying to exhaust their pain, drain it out, beat it into submission with physical exertion so at least the hurt wouldn't spread and consume more of them. It did help, she had to admit. Some feelings, when bottled up, were nothing but poison. That was a wisdom that Cullen seemed to know well, so he encouraged the healthy sparring.

_Cullen._  She lov...she  _really enjoyed_  spending time with Cullen.

When they talked or strolled or just sat, she would often notice that she'd been smiling and the hollow sensation in her chest felt less so. She would savor the feeling for as long as it lasted but eventually what flowed would ebb and she was left with the hole again. She wondered if anything would ever succeed at closing it or filling it or stitching it back together or if she'd be better off working on covering it up as best she could so at least she wouldn't appear to the world to be quite so miserable.

Sadly, she knew she'd never be able to cover it up sufficiently for Cullen not to notice. He'd seen the hopeless black corner of her soul and every color she had inside her from red rage to grey indifference. Yet still, he valiantly and aggressively treated her completely  _normal_ , as he treated everyone, whether they be a lyrium addled ex-Templar or a broken down ex-Inquisitor. She appreciated it, that she didn't have to be reminded of anything when she was with him, she could just  _be_. She let go of all pretenses and was able to act the way she wanted to act, say the things she wanted to say and not think too hard on how it sounded. Sometimes she sounded casual and content in the moment and sometimes she sounded biting and bitter, trapped in the past. Either way, he was steadfast in his companionship, the very essence of patience. She doubted the vigil preceding a Templar's vows was half as rigorous as the one he now stood against her angst.

But  _he_ , she reminded herself, was the one who'd found  _her_ , so there must be some reason he continued to abide her presence and her emotional vacillating.

_You're a charity case. You know this already..._

Wait. No. She  _didn't_  know that actually. Actually, she knew it was something more, but perhaps she just didn't want to see it yet. It appeared she was ready, however, to start objecting to the voices in her head.

"You're smiling."

"Hm? What?" Evelyn looked up to see Cullen staring down at her, having snuck his way across the field to come up beside her without her noticing. He sat down next to her in the grass.

"Deny all you want. I saw it. It's been happening a lot lately. Be careful. Someone else might see."

She couldn't bring herself to be upset at his joking. And she couldn't stop herself from smiling.

"In fact," Cullen added, "Make sure no one else sees. My pride would quite like it, I think, if you only smiled around me."

Her smile was now joined by a familiar feeling of warmth that Cullen's presence imparted, filling in all the cold and empty spaces inside her. "It's early yet, shouldn't you still be helping with the building?"

_Are you trying to get him to leave? You know you'd rather he stay…_

"There's lots of us to do the work. We'll be finished with the addition in short order. No one will mind if I dawdle for one afternoon." He shrugged and leaned back on his elbows to watch the passing clouds overhead.

Evelyn was surprised at that. "I'm not sure I've ever seen you 'dawdle'. Do you even know what that means?"

Cullen chuckled. "It's hot. Want to go down to the lake for a swim?"

As if he heard the word 'swim' from across the farm, Pup came bounding over to them, his giant Mabari tongue wagging in hopeful anticipation. When Cullen stood, the dog ran off immediately in the direction of the lake.

"Come on. He thinks we're going to race him. Hurry up." He held out his hand to help her up. She took it and rose, but then grumbled.

"I'm not racing the  _dog_  down to the lake, Cullen."

"Alright then..." He said perfectly innocently, before he pushed her back down to the ground. It was a gentle push, delivered with a cheeky smirk, but it was a push nonetheless. "...you can race  _me_  down to the lake." Like a child, he took off at a run, leaving Evelyn to struggle back upright and dust dirt off her backside.

"Ugh. Of all the immature…" But she never finished her complaint. She growled, sighed, rolled her eyes and then ran after him as fast as she could.

Pup and Cullen were already in the water when she arrived, huffing, puffing and sweating after her run. "You're both cheats." She accused them as she stripped down to her smalls and tested the water with a toe. It was clear and cold and she shivered despite the heat of the day. She considered just sitting at the bank and letting her legs dangle in, but instead she did a dive.

She resurfaced with a shocked yelp, but quickly adjusted to the temperature and waded over to Cullen who was throwing a ball back out onto the grass for Pup to fetch.

"Evelyn, may I ask you something?"

"Of course." She spoke the words calmly but felt a sinking in her gut.

_You don't have to throw up a wall at every simple question. He should be allowed to ask you things for Maker's sake! Trust him..._

Her inner chastisement was swift and effective. She didn't want to be defensive all the time, so she set her jaw, determined to answer.

"I...uh...I wanted to ask you…" Cullen hesitated, looked up at the bright sun, floated on his back for a moment and then dipped beneath the surface of the water, bobbing quickly back up. Curly blond tendrils of hair stuck to his forehead as he rubbed water out of his eyes. "Maker, there's no good way to ask this…"

He groaned helplessly and Evelyn waited expectantly. Finally he came out with it. "I have to travel to Denerim for the Harvestmere festivals. I was wondering if you would come along with me."

_That's his question?_

"Um…" Evelyn had concocted several potential questions in her head while he drew up his nerve to ask, but none of them was  _that_. "Do you...do you need me to come with you…?"

_Well_ that  _was the most absurd reply you could have managed, 'Inquisitor'._

"Before you answer, there's actually more to this." Cullen mumbled the next part while avoiding her eyes. "On the way to the capital, I promised my family I would stop in South Reach for a visit."

"Your family…" She'd degenerated into a mindless echo of his statements apparently, too dumbfounded to really absorb what he was saying. She'd assumed he would prod her to talk about herself, now that she was making attempts to be more communicative. Instead, it appeared he wanted a travel companion for a little holiday. And he was asking her.

Cullen sighed and swam over to the bank. He climbed out of the water slowly and Evelyn caught herself admiring the glistening droplets running down the bare planes of his back. The heat in her chest rose a little and the hole there filled in a little more. He sat down with a heavy thud on the ground and looked out across the lake, appearing deep in thought.

Evelyn left the water too and sat down next to him, stretching her legs out to dry in the sunshine. Not yet sure where this conversation even came from or where it was going, let alone how she was going to answer his question, she just sat and waited for him to continue. The sounds of water gently lapping, wind rustling the leaves of the trees and the distant chirp of birds were the only things to listen to for a while.

Talking to the open sky now more than her, Cullen spoke again. "I grew up not far from here. This place was always quiet. Quite the opposite of a house full of noisy siblings. I came here often to clear my head. Or at least try to until they eventually found me."

The peaceful half smile he wore as he related a bit of his childhood was wonderful to see. She lov...She  _really liked_  it when he smiled…

"I love my siblings, and I did go to visit when the war ended, but it was  _harder_  than I expected it would be."

Evelyn focused her attention on his face, his voice, the intonation of his words, the rise and fall of his chest, the pinpoint pulse of blood in his neck, the neatly trimmed hairs on his head tightening into ringlets as they dried. She enjoyed paying attention to all those little things as they sat together. She could listen to him talk all day about nothing, but hearing him talk about something dear to him, important to him, captured all her senses. The demons in her head quieted, the hole in her chest was soothed a bit more.

"I'm sorry, I really don't want to burden you with my rambling, but I promise there's a point to this."

"It's alright," She said softly, turning to face him, rapt and eager. "I'm happy to listen." And she was. If it was somehow selfish using him as a distraction from her own problems she didn't care. She wanted to be selfish. She wanted to enjoy this,  _enjoy him_.

"They asked a lot of questions I really wasn't prepared to answer. About the past. My past. What I'd seen, what I'd done. I told myself I should be ready to share those things, especially with family, and they meant no harm, but it just made me uncomfortable and my reluctance to talk with them about anything made all of them uncomfortable as well. It wasn't the best of reunions. I think they understood, or at least they wanted to understand, but they couldn't really. I was hoping that if you came with me this time…" He frowned and shook his head. "It's damned selfish I know, but I always feel... _better_  when you're near. Stronger. And if you were with me when I visited them again, I might be able to be more... _normal_?" He said that last part as if he was both questioning his word choice and questioning himself in general.

_What a pair the two of you make. If it wasn't so pathetic it might be funny._

Evelyn just stared at him. He stared back at her, equal parts embarrassment and uncertainty behind his eyes, and yet there was also a paradoxical certainty there, one of perseverance. Evelyn looked down at his chest and saw the hole over his heart as clearly as she saw her own. His was a very old wound, but she could make out the careful stitches she herself had placed a long time ago and the healing that she helped cultivate there.

They were quite a pair, both pathetic and funny. So funny in fact, she laughed. The sound of it filled her up. Cullen's surprised smile at her outburst filled her up too. She laughed and laughed until he started laughing. When she stopped, she answered his question.

"I'd lov...I'd be  _really_   _happy_  to come with you, Cullen."

He let out a long breath, then reached for his clothes. He pulled a small coin out of one of his pockets. He turned the thing over in his fingers then held it out to her.

"My brother gave me this coin the day I left for Templar training. I've held onto it all this time, but I've been wanting to give it to you. It was comforting at times to have something solid to hold onto. It always made me think of this place." Cullen gestured at the lake, the woods, the sky. "I like the idea of you holding onto it, and thinking of this place too. If..if you want it..."

Evelyn took the coin reverently and clasped it in her fist. "Thank you…" She wasn't sure what else to say, but unexpectedly one of the  _fucking_  demons in her head spoke for her.

"Cullen, why do you...why am I  _here_? Why did you come after me? Why are you tolerating what I've become, who I am now? I'm not who I was, we both know this…" She looked down at the ground. There was more she could say, questioning his wisdom in devoting attention to her, questioning his sense in wasting time on her, questioning his sanity in caring about her, but she didn't want to. Suddenly she wanted to walk away,  _run away,_ her laughter now forgotten. She rose, dressed hurriedly and took off back towards the farm, her field and silence. Cullen shouted after her before she could escape hearing distance.

"Evelyn." He spoke her name like a command, loud, with force and purpose. She froze mid stride, not turning to look at him, but not continuing forward either. "Evelyn." When he repeated her name it was a whisper, but still she heard. She thought she could have still heard him amidst a thunderstorm. "Evelyn, I love you. I always have. I do now. I always will. I'm an arse for not telling you sooner, but you know that already. So now, I've told you."

When she turned around he had already gone back to staring out at the lake. She stared at the back of his head, not moving, holding her breath, unable to decide if she wanted to go forward, or go back. Eventually, still holding his coin in her hand, she ran back to her field, leaving him beside the lake.

She didn't see him for the rest of the day. She sat in her spot, clutching his coin as if she were holding onto a raft in raging river. Her mind was curiously empty when usually it was packed with doubts and demon whispers. To fill the hours and fill the space in her head, she thought of Cullen. Every moment she could remember since the first time they'd met, every argument, every awkward conversation, every shared piece of joy and pain. Her mind's eye conjured the memory of a broken man breaking a vile of lyrium against a wall, and the memory of a broken woman staring down at one bloodied wrist. She recounted everything across time and distance until she got to the moment a short while ago, sitting by a lake and feeling less like a husk and more like a person again. A person with needs and wants and desires. A person sharing things with someone else and not being so alone.

Evelyn stood. She decided she didn't want to be alone in this field any longer.

xxxx

"So you told her."

"I told her." It was too late at night to be keeping Rylen up reliving his failed afternoon at the lake, but he was doing it anyway. Cullen lay flat on his back in bed staring up at the ceiling.

"About time."

"I have horrible timing."

"No argument here, brother, but still, it's about time." Rylen rustled on his cot. "I'm going to sleep. Try not to keep yourself up thinking. That's never helpful."

Cullen kept himself up thinking. When the door to his bedroom opened unexpectedly, without a knock or any warning at all, he shot up, startled, as did Rylen who was half asleep. At the sight of Evelyn standing there they both relaxed.

"Evelyn...is something…" Cullen didn't get a chance to finish asking if something was wrong.

"Rylen, get out." She ordered.

Rylen grunted but got out of bed immediately, grabbing his pillow and blanket. He stumbled past her mumbling under his breath, "About time", and shutting the door behind him as he left.

Cullen was struck dumb when Evelyn walked over to his bed and dove right in beside him. He tensed as she curled up on her side and faced away from him. She pulled the covers over herself and settled in.

"Go to sleep, Cullen." She said, and she closed her eyes.

He said nothing about her strange invasion and promptly laid back down as commanded. He paused for a moment before he curled up behind her, at first not daring to touch, but he could smell her hair and sense her magic. He moved closer, pressing his chest to her back. She scooted and repositioned to mold against him. He reached out and wrapped his arm around her waist. She rested her hand over his.

"Good night, Cullen." She whispered as she tangled their fingers together, letting her body relax into the sheets.

"Good night, love." He whispered in her ear and he fell asleep with the feeling of her all around him, feeling full and complete, hoping she felt the same way, stronger together than apart.


	10. Scar

Evelyn's hand was small inside his. Soft where his was rough, pale where his was tanned by the sun. He'd dozed for a while after she'd fallen asleep late in the night,  _in his arms_ , but he was too... _everything_  to actually get any rest. Too surprised. Too happy. Too nervous. Too content. At some point he'd rolled onto his back and she onto his chest, resting her head over his heart. Her only hand was on his ribs, which he held there in his own staring down silently at the their point of contact. One of many points of contact, both superficial and deep.

As he'd imagined so many times, her hair was loose, not quite long enough yet to splay across him, but long enough now that it tickled his skin as she moved ever so slightly with each breath. It was maddening and perfect, the feather-light not-quite touch.

She snored. Which he already knew, but it was still funny. He wondered if she was the type to be vain about it, denying it to the last, or if she'd glare at him and accuse him of doing the same. He couldn't wait to find out.

Though he could fantasize about the innumerable things he wanted to ask and feel and tell and experience with her now, he forced himself to turn his attention back to her hand. He turned over her wrist to study the self-inflicted scars there. All were healed now but it looked like some had been neglected and could have used stitches to close them up and others were better off, as if she'd taken the time to heal them with magic.

If asked, in the same breath he would say he both loathed them and adored them. He wanted to burn the sight of her scars into his memory so he would never forget how fragile is happiness, never take for granted how meaningful is pain, and never deny how important is love.

When the sun started shining through his perpetually open window, she finally started to rouse. It was well past when he normally would have gotten up but he would have laid there until Wintersend waiting for her to wake on her own before he cut short the feeling of her nestled against him. Her eyes fluttered sleepily and she took a long breathy sigh as she stretched her body along his, awakening her muscles, lithe and strong compared to the frail state in which he'd found her in a shack in the woods.

It took her a moment to realize that he was holding her hand, but when she did she snatched it back and away, hiding it into her chest. She sat up, fully alert. He let her be, watching her emotions play out behind her eyes. He gave her a half-smile in good morning and he waited.

His heart started beating again when she laid back down next to him. He was bold enough to gather her in close, and she was bold enough to bring her hand back to his chest, her wrist turned down. Delicate fingers began to trace his own many scars. One in particular seemed to fascinate her. He could understand why, it was his worst.

"How did you get this one?" Her question started eagerly, but then her curiosity tapered into hesitation, "If...if you want to tell me…"

_I want to tell you everything about everything,_ he thought to himself. It was an odd feeling. Normally he wished he could forget how he got that scar. The getting of it still featured in nearly all of his nightmares. Strangely, he could think of nothing he wanted more at the moment than to share the story with her. Shared pain is shared triumph over it.

"That was my first great battle wound." He almost laughed at himself. How ridiculous that he would start the tale by trying to protect his pride. Or hide his shame. Either way, he would have her know every corner of his past and how it shaped him. "Well, not exactly from a real battle. I couldn't put up much of a fight at the time. It happened at Kinloch when the Circle fell. A desire demon ran me through with my own sword. The mages healed the wound. A dead Templar isn't much fun to torture as it turns out, so I lived but it still stings and it's not exactly pretty, is it?"

Cullen wasn't looking at Evelyn while he talked. His eyes were fixed on the ceiling, a crack in the paint, a cobweb, stupid little things to keep his mind grounded so he wouldn't go  _back there_  in his head as he spoke of it. Everlasting, it seemed, were the familiar remnants of old horror, present in his very soul, waiting dormant but always ready to try and burst free again. It was  _massively_  comforting though to hold Evelyn close, to feel her heartbeat next to his and it grounded him more than any other meaningless distraction ever could.

"A desire demon…?" He felt the side of her face wrinkle in confusion along his skin where she rested.

"Mmhm." He confirmed and nodded his head. "Not typically the weapon they wield, to be sure, but the beast was surprisingly accurate with the damned thing. I remember, sort of,  _knowing_ , at the time that it was a demon, but it didn't look like a demon, obviously. It looked like...someone else." He didn't continue from there, but Evelyn did.

"It looked like someone you loved."

_Was she speaking from experience?_

"It did." Another confirmation. Another nod of his head. The next thing Evelyn said shouldn't have shocked him, in all that he'd seen in his life, all that he knew about her then and now. But it did shock him. It shocked him and sickened him and made him love her even more with a painfully frightening ferocity.

"My desire demons all look like you." She breathed out the words more than spoke them, and their soft heat on his chest burned. "But none of them have ever had this scar. Now I'll know how to tell the difference." It was so sadly matter-of-fact, so logically poignant, he couldn't stop himself from squeezing her tightly enough to make her gasp.

_Maker's Breath_ , but he wanted nothing more than to kiss her. Even laying on top of him, she wasn't close enough, they weren't near enough, everything in him ached to envelop her, swallow up her hurt and let her swallow up his.

As it turned out, his will was too weak and the force of his emotion for her was too strong in that moment. It must have been a demon that convinced him to stop thinking and just act. Rolling them both over, he placed her head on his pillow and rested on his elbows looking down at her. Though he wanted to devour her like a demon, he had enough human,  _enough Templar,_  left in him to hold back. So instead he slowly lowered his lips to hers, giving her all the time in the world to stop him, but she didn't so he just rested them there, barely making contact. At the first feel of her warmth,  _her taste,_  he froze. His demon deserted him and ten million doubts flooded back into his head, but he couldn't bring himself to back away. Trapped in a humiliating limbo that made him feel like a teenager back at the Circle Tower again, he hovered there, motionless, until she moved.

It was slow but deliberate. She lifted her head off the pillow and pressed her lips into his with firm determination. For the span of one breath, they were both tense, rigid, wondering. For the span of a second, they settled into the intimate touch. For the span of a third, they relaxed their whole bodies into each other. Lips parted, they exchanged their fourth breath while Cullen's heart raced and his head spun. It took everything in him to stop kissing her, but he knew he should and he knew he must. He enjoyed himself for one moment longer and then he pulled away. Forgetting herself, she followed him, eyes closed, mouth welcoming, but he didn't continue their kiss.

_Let her want it._

As he wanted it. As he learned since she'd come back into his world, it was in the  _wanting_  that he truly knew he  _loved_. He wished for her to feel the same thing, for them to meet in the same place in their hearts.

She accepted his ending of their kiss without question, but she brought her good arm up to curl around his neck and she pulled him down onto her this time. It was his turn to rest his head in the crook of her shoulder. She then held up her severed arm, drawing his attention to it.

"This still hurts." She admitted. "All the time. Sometimes it feels like the mark is still there, burning and glowing. Sometimes it feels different, with a prickly tingling, like my hand is still there and I just fell asleep on it. That's actually the worst. I don't  _want_  to remember it being there…"

_You just want it to be gone for good._

It was how he felt about the lyrium. He would always have the remnants of it in his blood. It was part of him and it always would be no matter how hard he worked or how fervently he wished it could disappear and be forgotten.

"I understand." He probably didn't need to say it, but he did. He would never again  _not_  say the things he wanted to say to her. Never again would he allow her to question his feelings or his thoughts like some cryptic game. Both of them were well past games, intentional or not. Although perhaps the next thing he said would have been better  _not said_.

"Is there, um, anything I can do to help distract you when it bothers you?"

_Past the games, are you?_ But his offer was honest and definitely no game.

A wide smile spread across her face. "I'll let you know."

She sat up abruptly then, forcing him to sit up as well. Getting out of bed, she stretched again, arching her back in the sunlight spilling freely into the room. She walked over to Pup, still sprawled on his cushion, and patted his head. Next on her agenda was a leisurely stroll over to his dresser where she picked up a comb and started to run it through her bed-tangled hair.

He thought he might have had something to say but damned if he hadn't forgotten it completely, entranced by the sight of her going about her  _new_  morning routine.

Setting down the comb and dropping one hand to perch on one hip, she turned back to him. "So when do we leave for Denerim?"


	11. Ask

" _Good luck with the family, lass. I'm sure you'll win them over. But it won't hurt to take a little liquid courage with you."_

Just before she and Cullen departed the farm for their journey, Rylen bid Evelyn farewell by pressing a flask of moonshine into her hand. She rolled her eyes at him, but pocketed it with secret gratitude.

That gratitude resurfaced now, as she and Cullen dallied in the wilderness about a day's ride from South Reach. They were procrastinating. And she needed a drink.

At first they made good time. The weather was pleasant and cool, the foliage of autumn and the smell of the harvests brightened the ride on their shared horse. She could have taken her own mount, but it was  _nice_  riding behind Cullen, and he seemed to like how she pressed against his back and wrapped her arm around his waist. She freely admitted to herself that she liked letting him captain their journey so she could enjoy watching the countryside as they traveled.

She'd been up, down, over and all around Ferelden and Orlais and a good portion of the Free Marches, but she'd never  _enjoyed_  it. When she was Inquisitor, there was always a task, a goal, an endpoint; though at the time nothing ever seemed to actually "end" since the next trial would inevitably follow immediately on the heels of the previous. After she was Inquisitor, for a long time when she travelled alone, she saw the world colored only by those old trials.

_Old chains, more like._

Now, it was different. She drank in the scenery greedily, escaping her head in a way that she hadn't thought possible not long ago. Cullen too seemed invigorated. He was always ready with a story to tell her, a smile to warm her and a kiss to stir her. Sometimes they slept at inns, sometimes they slept under the stars, but they always slept snuggled close. Their nights were mostly calm and easy, with sleep being not exactly their friend, but at least it was no longer an enemy. Neither of them made any attempts to progress their physical intimacy, both content at the moment to simply learn what it was to  _not_  feel urgency and unrest about something.

There was no plight that needed championing, no greater good that needed a sacrifice, no peril that hung over their heads...well, until now…

The closer they came to South Reach, and thus Cullen's family, the more stops Cullen made, delaying their inevitable arrival. He found reasons to tarry in each town and village dotting the highway, and some reasons to go out of their way entirely. There was a breeder they simply had to visit about acquiring another Mabari pup for the farm. There was a well-known armorer that had special skill with shields whose work Cullen had always wanted to see. There was a baker in a small hamlet that was rumored to make the best cakes in all of Ferelden.

_And they were. The best._

Evelyn hadn't minded that stop. She hadn't minded any of them actually, but she wondered why Cullen was skirting around a simple visit with his family. She wondered, that is, until they were a day's ride from South Reach.

That was when Rylen's moonshine started to sound like a really good idea.

Cullen slowed their pace even more earlier in the day, meandering through the woods, silent and thoughtful. They probably could have reached their destination by nightfall, but as dusk settled in, they decided to set up camp and wait until morning to finally ride into the lands of Cullen's family. As they busied themselves with tent and fire and food, Evelyn's demons struck up a conversation, lighting a strange new flame of unrest, one she thought Cullen might also be dealing with in his own head with his own demons.

 _What will they think of you? Not much, not be sure. The good you did was forgotten in the same breath people thanked you with ages ago. Not much left of you now but a mage loitering off the good graces their brother somehow sees fit to bestow upon you. And here you are invading their time with him. He's_ theirs _. Not yours..._

They ate their evening meal in silence by the fire as the sounds of night rose up, joining the unwanted demon whispers. Evelyn was growing adept at ignoring them, but amusingly it was the memory of Rylen's voice advocating a bit of liquid courage that rang out loud and clear, driving her to rummage through her pack looking for the flask.

Cullen saw her contraband and his reaction was not what she expected.

"Oh thank the Maker for Rylen!" He exclaimed and actually grabbed the thing from her to help himself. After a large gulp he handed it back to her and let out a still partially tense groan. "Can't we skip South Reach and just ride on to Denerim?" The rhetorical request was weak at best, as he already knew the answer.

"I wasn't expecting you to be quite this put out over spending time with your family." Evelyn took a drink and leaned against Cullen's shoulder, passing the flask back to him.

"I'm not put out exactly, I just...I  _like_  my life. I don't want to feel as if it's being judged." Cullen waved a hand frantically after the statement trying to correct what he obviously thought came out wrong. "Not that I think they're judging me, I'm sure if they think I'm happy, it would make them happy, but...it's so much easier  _not_ putting oneself in these situations, isn't it?"

_Well you certainly know about avoiding family situations don't you, Inquisitor? Do you ever wonder if they found your staff? Or would you rather not know if they found it then got rid of it, like they got rid of you?_

Evelyn decided not to reply. Neither to Cullen, nor to the demons. She let Cullen go on talking and continued to ignore the other voices.

"I  _do_  want them to think I've done well and have ended up on the path I want to be on. I'd rather  _not_  have them think I'm not where I want to be in life because of any troubles I might have had in the past. But then, I wonder if I'm being ridiculous because I actually don't give a damn what anyone thinks any longer. I'm  _happy…_ "

"You're happy?" For some reason, Evelyn felt the need to have him repeat what he just said.

He answered her with an impromptu kiss, and she felt his smile against her lips. "Yes, I'm happy." He laughed then, apparently at himself. "I have no idea what I'm even saying anymore but I do know for certain I'm happy."

Evelyn decided it was time to explain to him what he was feeling about his family, and in that way share with him what happened,  _or didn't happen_ , with hers. The stars had come out and the moons were bright in the cloudless sky. She pushed him gently backwards so he would lay down on the grass and then she arranged herself beside him. He had a shirt on, but she ran her fingers across where the terrible old scar on his chest was underneath the soft cotton.

"You don't want your family to think you're broken."

Evelyn could feel Cullen hold his breath while he considered her statement. When he exhaled, she continued.

"You don't want them to think things like… ' _Poor Cullen, if only such horrible things hadn't happened to him'... 'Poor Cullen, if only he wasn't so_ damaged' _... 'Poor Cullen, if only he'd been_ normal…"

Even without looking at him, Evelyn knew her words had struck their mark. The muscles of his abdomen tightened, the sound of his heartbeat quickened and she could hear the in and out of his breathing through his flared nostrils.

"When I left Skyhold, the first place I went was to Ostwick. I wanted to see my family again. I felt good on the way there. I felt like I'd accomplished so much and I was proud of all the things I'd done and lived through with the Inquisition. But the closer I got to 'home', things started feeling  _different_."

She was surprised at how easy it was for her to talk about it. Instead of the cold shiver down her spine that usually happened when she recounted all of her bitter emotions in her head, right now she actually felt warm. Next to Cullen, she felt safe from falling back down into the abyss she'd once found herself in.

"I never actually made it in the front door. I talked myself into leaving before I even 'arrived'. My brother had a wife and children. I saw them, but they didn't see me. They looked happy. And it was a genuine happy. Not an 'as good as  _you're_  going to get' happy, which was all I felt like I was destined for. So, I left before I had to endure those "Poor Evelyn" platitudes. Or maybe I left so I wouldn't find out if they didn't even care about offering "Poor Evelyn" any platitudes at all. Anyway, it's funny how without even actually exposing yourself to judgment, you can weave in your head enough insecurity about things to fail before you try."

It was only when she stopped talking that she noticed Cullen had slowly been squeezing her closer, his arms strong and his fingers tight around her. Her heart felt tight in her chest at the feeling of him. Her heart  _felt_. She did her best to keep her voice steady.

"I think it's important to understand what it is you actually want in life, not what you think you should want or what you think others want for you. And when you finally have what you want, you can just be happy about it and never mind anything else. I didn't really know then what I wanted for myself when I went back to my family in Ostwick. I'm not sure if I know now, but I know I have more than I thought I would when I abandoned my staff there and walked away without seeing them."

Evelyn was squeezing back now, the power of their physical touch stronger than any magic she'd ever conjured against the darkness.

"Would you have me?"

"Hm?" She lifted her head at the question. Cullen was staring up at the sky.

"A bit late, I think, to ask. You already 'have' me, whether you know it or not, but still, I thought it might be good...to ask..."

"To have you?"

_The two of you are not good at this. Or anything. Neither of you are very good at anything, are you?_

"Now that you mention it, I suppose it could have several meanings, couldn't it?"

"It...could."

_Definitely not good at this._

"I mean both."

"Both?" Evelyn held her breath, mouth open, throat dry.

"I already know what I want, Evelyn. I want you. I love you. I want to make love to you. And I want you to be mine. So I'm asking. Can I make love to you? And can I marry you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. That's a horrible way to end a chapter ;p Thanks for reading!


	12. Answer

Five eternities passed as Cullen waited for an answer. He counted the stars, but lost his place as their light flickered bright then dim by turns. He counted the leaves of the trees overhead, but the way they trembled in the breeze made his sweaty hands want to tremble which he was mightily trying  _not_  to let happen. And then finally…

"Yes."

Time stopped. Or at least, he wished it would. He considered asking her if she might cast a spell to do just that so he could live in this moment, on that single word, forever. But then he'd never get to do either of the things she just agreed to so…

"But I have conditions."

_Conditions?_

"Co...conditions…?" Admittedly, he hadn't planned what would come after she answered him. He supposed he imagined a paucity of words and a plethora of  _actions_  to follow her assent to his requests. He definitely hadn't envisioned negotiations. Not that he was about to argue. As long as her answer stayed 'yes', she could have whatever condition she damn well pleased. He'd make love to her suspended from the top of Fort Drakon if it struck her fancy.

Evelyn sat up, so he did as well. They faced each other and he listened intently as she began to itemize her 'conditions'.

"I want a wedding."

It didn't bode well for him that he was already confused.

"Evelyn, I believe that's the point of a marriage proposal."

She huffed. "No, Cullen. I want a  _wedding_. Yes, I want to  _marry_  you," He saw her lips purse as she fought back a smile at that statement. She wanted to marry him. And saying it made her smile. He almost didn't let her finish, so badly did he want to take her in his arms, but he fought the urge so she could continue. "but I specifically want to marry you in a  _real_  wedding. In a Chantry. With flowers. And a party. With cake."

Cullen rubbed at back of his neck. "I'll happily acquire all the cake in Orlais if you want it, love, but can I ask why you want a big wedding? I never thought you liked parties."

"You're right. I don't. But I never thought I'd have a wedding. Now that it's a possibility, I find I want a  _real_  one. I don't want a 'this is as good as you're going to get' rushed elopement in the dark of night like we're guilty and hiding something." A fleeting uncertainty clouded her bright eyes. "Is that...strange?"

Cullen leaned in closer, suddenly needing to feel her. The liberty of touch was still novel, surreal to him, to those old sensibilities that whispered he didn't deserve this, didn't deserve her. He ran his hands along her thighs and she allowed it, as she always did now without question, but he caught her with the look she sometimes wore when he touched her or held her or kissed her. It was a look that spoke to those same things he felt, that a large part of her also was taken aback by someone cherishing her, loving her.

A blinding and urgent need burned bright inside him. There was always a low smolder of need present when she was near and even sometimes when she wasn't but, more and more now, there were times that the need flared and grew.  _He burned_. Burned for her, to have her, to show her, to show himself that this was  _right_. Their pasts, their pain, the horror and the sadness were all for a reason. So they could come together. So they could love. Truly love. Without reservation, with eyes and hearts wide open and unafraid, content in the knowledge that they  _deserved this_.

He took a deep breath. He wasn't good with words on the best of days, let alone when his mind was fogged by the delirium of emotion she stirred in him. He had to try though, to make her understand and possibly to puts things in better focus for himself as well.

"Firstly, this is not a 'possibility', Evelyn, it is a  _certainty_. Secondly, I don't find it strange at all. I think when you've always felt like you don't deserve something, it can be hard to accept it once you have it. Making a 'normal' go of it can be a way to prove to yourself you do deserve it. And even when you don't give a nug's arse what anyone else thinks, sometimes it's nice to have those typical things that others take for granted, even after spending your whole life convincing yourself you didn't need it."

A slow and relieved smile spread across her face that he was sure she would have tried to hide better if they weren't sitting outside in the dark. She shivered in the chill air that had been getting a bit colder each night as they traveled. He stood and arranged their bedrolls so they could climb in.

When they were settled into a warm embrace again, she was still silent, so he prodded a little. "What else?"

"I don't really want a lot of people, I just want it to feel properly official."

"We can always have Cassandra perform the ceremony for us." Said in jest, he hadn't expected Evelyn to call him on the suggestion of having the Divine marry them no matter how close they'd all once been.

"Exactly. You can write to her."

She was serious. And suddenly Cullen was terrified at just how 'proper' Evelyn was considering making this.

"Evelyn…" He said her name slowly, not really wanting to tread down this road, but this might mean the difference between turning around and racing towards Val Royeaux to demand that Divine Victoria marry them immediately versus taking their time to leisurely plan a wedding with ten kinds of cake. "Evelyn, do you...wish to, um, ' _wait'_...until we're married…?"

_Dear fucking Maker, please say no._

Guilt quickly crept up on him after the selfish,  _but honest_ , thought. He wanted to give her whatever it was she wanted, however she wanted it. It was important to him that she move on from feeling used by the world. He wanted it to be her turn to dictate how these next important steps in her life would play out. Maker knew, he had everything he wanted in his arms already. Now if only she would just say she  _didn't_  want to wait…

xxxx

Evelyn didn't want to wait.

It had taken her a moment,  _fine, many moments_ , to decide she wanted a wedding with all of the pretty fancies she'd long thought herself too disillusioned to entertain. She knew she was going to say yes as soon as the questions left Cullen's lips but it took her some time to understand why and how she wanted to make it work. So she didn't answer right away.

She  _wanted_  him.  _Maker,_  but she  _wanted_  him and it hadn't quite hit her how badly until he laid his heart bare once again before her and offered himself to her. He wanted her too. Enough to ask and enough to sound confident in the asking, certain that  _he_  wanted  _her_. Her. Just her. She had nothing else to give him. But apparently she was enough.

Feeling his heartbeat under her hand, now pounding against her palm, hanging on her next unspoken words, she knew they'd both had enough of waiting. She may want a Chantry wedding like the little girl Evelyn Trevelyan dreamed of when she danced about in the green fields of Ostwick, but the  _woman_  Evelyn Trevelyan, who'd paid many a heavy price to finally just get  _here_ , get to the place where she could dream and want and  _love_  again, this Evelyn, for tonight, needed only Cullen.

They didn't have a bed beneath them but they had stars above them. Her hair was mussed by the wind and he hadn't shaved in days. Their campfire had burned down to a low orange glow and she could barely see his face in the Ferelden midnight but she could  _feel_  him.

She never did answer with words. She answered with her single hand, as she squirmed inside their bedroll and tugged at their clothes. First her tunic, up and over her head. His head tilted to take in the sight, his mouth open, his eyes intense. Then her leggings, kicked off and away. Her bare legs slid against him as his legs tangled with hers and she felt the  _need_  she aroused in him. It made her feel  _powerful_. Not weak. Not broken.  _Important_.  _Loved_.

She pulled off his shirt next, knowing every scar he wore beneath it. She'd touched them, traced them, now she kissed them, tasted them. Salt and sunshine even in the dark. And like a predator of the night, she fed off his growls and rumbles and sighs as she devoured him. Each of his muscles flexed for her, he held her, gripped her, and drove her as mad as she was driving him with the heat of his fingers all along her naked skin.

And then their naked skin was all that was between them. He rolled them and she was pinned beneath him. Delicious entrapment by the bulk of him, all hers, around and above her and finally,  _finally_  inside her.

He roared and her heart roared with him, feeling more alive than she'd ever felt.  _This_  was life. Not the outside world or the people in it. They moved in their own world now, creating it from each shared sensation until every sensation suddenly climaxed into a bliss that shocked them both. Shuddering and gasping, sweating and panting the lines between them blurred and for one perfect moment they were no longer two lost souls but a single one,  _found_  and at home.

Regretfully, reluctantly, but floating on a feeling of primal satisfaction, they came back down to Thedas clinging to one another. Still, they didn't speak, neither wanting to venture all the way back to reality yet.

_But this is reality now._

Evelyn shot straight up like a bolt from a crossbow. The cool night air hit her skin as something suddenly occurred to her. She sat, now straddled atop a half-dozing Cullen, and it brought her fully back to her senses.

"Evelyn?" He croaked out sleepily. "Are you alright, love?"

She thought about the question.  _So many questions tonight._ She  _was_  alright. But she wasn't. It didn't matter though, that she wasn't. He wasn't. She wasn't. They might never just be alright but it didn't matter because they had  _this_  now, each other, to fill the empty spaces and sew the wounds of the hard times shut. She could be both, alright and not alright, and still move forward. With him. Together.

She leaned back down over him, nuzzling at his beard, indulging in his old familiar scent mingled with the new scent of their lovemaking. When he started to stir again at her ministrations she finally answered him.

"I'm not sure. Maybe. Let's do that again and see."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fine. I lied. There's a little smut OKAY?! 
> 
> Thank's so much for reading! ;)


	13. Rose

In a fantastic stroke of irony, Cullen's family was completely uninterested in him for the duration of his visit. Instead, they were shamelessly interested in Evelyn.

The morning following the official consummation of their relationship,  _twice_ , Cullen took Evelyn on one more detour to purchase a very official engagement ring. Subsequently, after introducing Her-Worship-former-Inquisitor-Lady-Trevelyan as 'My Fiance Evelyn' to his family, all attention was directed at her and he was abruptly shoved off like the very uninteresting brother he'd always wanted to be.

He might have felt bad, throwing her to the wolves so to speak, but she seemed to take all the twittering and fawning in stride with reserved grace. She wasn't effusive but she answered all of their questions, even a few careless ones about her family and more than a few intrusive ones about starting a family of their own. They were vague answers. Answers that made  _him_  want to ask questions, but patience was the better part of valor for the time being so he would continue to quietly enjoy the triumphs he'd already achieved.

The past never came up in conversation, or inside Cullen's head, in favor of looking towards the future. He couldn't say for certain, however, what stray old strands of the past still lingered inside Evelyn's head though he hoped there weren't many. He did notice that instead of catching her staring down at the hand that wasn't there, a pained frown reflecting the pain behind her eyes, he would find her staring down at the hand that was there, where she wore his ring, and smiling.

After a short but sweet visit, they left behind South Reach and left behind the clutches of his family who were now ravenous over the prospect of a wedding. Just that quickly, it seemed, even without announcing to any of their friends yet, Evelyn had the start of a substantial 'real' wedding guest list. She was contently quiet on the short ride into Denerim and Cullen wondered if she was itemizing things like that in her head, things like guests and flowers. He hoped she was.

The Ferelden capital was a wonderful place to visit during the Harvestmere festivals. The old city had a comforting warmth to it, market stalls drawing you in with their bounty, awash with colors of rich orange, red, brown and dark yellows. The first fallen leaves crunched under their horse's hooves as Cullen led them to the stables. His summons from the King had been the perfect excuse for this trip but now he hoped the business they had to discuss would go quickly so he could enjoy the city and the festivities with Evelyn.

When they were almost at the gates of the palace, after taking the scenic route through town, she finally asked him why they were here.

"A bit late to be curious now, isn't it? What if I said the King was going to put me on trial for war crimes?"

"Is he?" She countered, deadpan.

"No, but…"

"Alright then." She drifted away from him and over to a merchant stall to browse the items. As she fingered a bolt of blue fabric, her face still expressionless, she baited him. "Rylen said you had to come to pay off your tab at The Pearl."

_Rylen._

"Did he also tell you his tab was bigger?" Cullen would gladly play along with her teasing. With each passing day she seemed to recover something new, some small piece of herself, or build up a new part of herself where the brittle old parts had crumbled away. Even her off-color humor at his expense was thrilling to see.

"He told me  _something_  of his was bigger…"

His thrill died. He answered her original question through pursed lips. "King Alistair has made a generous offer to bring our former Templars into his personal guard when they feel ready to leave the farm, so he's granted me an audience to discuss the details so that I can extend his offer to everyone.  _Except Rylen_."

Evelyn smiled and laughed. "Ah, but then we'd be stuck with him." She wandered away again heading for the palace gates. She mumbled intentionally loud enough for him to hear, "But if he stayed we could always take him up on his offer for a threesome…"

Cullen mumbled loudly right back. "We might just have to come back here for a trial afterall, love,  _when I murder Rylen_."

xxxx

After the bustle of Cullen's family, the hustle of Denerim was almost sedate. Evelyn was enjoying herself, but felt she might do good to arrange some quiet time, so when Cullen asked her if she wanted to join him in his audience with the King she happily refused.

"Cullen, if I  _never_  have another audience with anyone even remotely important it will be too soon. I'm going to go for a walk. You're on your own. Good luck." She waved and left him at the door of the Landsmeet chamber, looking forward to minding her own business while others attended to theirs.

She took her time meandering around as the afternoon wore on and eventually found herself wandering through the 'gardens' of the Royal Palace, though she wasn't sure they could rightfully be called such by Orlesian standards, or any standards really other than Fereldan ones.

She passed through shaded copses jutting up between ancient fortifications, stone pathways overgrown with weeds and wildflowers, and a few scattered atria surrounded by palace walls, their bright patches of green grass striking against the muted grey of masonry. It was in one of those atria, lounging in the late afternoon sun, she found His Majesty King Alistair alone on a bench.

There was a wilted red rose lying next to him and, in contrast, there was a fresh one in front of him laid atop a marble plaque set into the ground. She must have been walking for long enough that he and Cullen had finished their meeting. At first she was going to tiptoe away to find Cullen, but something made her linger. But for his crown, slightly askew upon his head, the King looked nothing like a King. Admittedly she'd only met the man once before, and it was under slightly more dire circumstances. He'd had his retinue with him then, so at the time he seemed much more imposing than he did now. He was dressed plainly, and he seemed relaxed, legs extended, ankles crossed and leaning back on his hands. He had at least a few days of stubble on his face and he looked to be deep in thought, just staring down at the glossy square of marble at his feet.

Struck by curiosity, she took a creeping step forward, but it wasn't as stealthy as she'd hoped. Her movement disturbed a dove perched on a nearby bush and it fluttered noisily away. The King turned to the sound and saw her standing there.

_So much for avoiding an audience._

Gathering herself, she bowed and tried to quickly bow out of the situation. "Sorry to disturb you, Your Majesty…" But he stopped her before she could scurry away.

"Inquisitor! Hello. Or, um, you know...'ex-Inquisitor'? Uh...Lady Trevelyan? Hm. Usually I have someone whispering in my ear how to address important people without offending them. You'll have to forgive me." The lopsided smile he offered her beneath his lopsided crown was endearing and she found herself smiling back at him.

"Just 'Evelyn' is fine, Your Majesty. I'm not so important anymore, and I'm finding I like it that way. And also, thank you for what you're doing for Cullen's Templars. I know how hard they've worked to forge new lives for themselves. They're good people who can still do good work."

"Mm." The King's smile faded a little as he turned back around to face the fresh rose. "It's important to feel like you have work to do. Especially when you've lost something. She taught me that." He nodded down at the plaque.

Compelled now, and drawn into this unexpected interaction, Evelyn walked forward to get a better look at the object that seemed to be the focus of Alistair's attention. Stupidly, she didn't think on the fact that she hadn't actually been invited further into his presence, but neither did he seem to mind when she approached him. He made room for her on the bench, and she sat. There was an engraving on the smooth surface of the stone.

_Solona Amell, d. 9:31 Dragon. Mage. Warden. Hero. Beloved._

When the King spoke again his voice sounded  _familiar_. The prosody, the intonation, the emotion. He sounded like she did. He sounded like Cullen. He sounded like each of the wayward Templars he would soon be recruiting into his service. He had  _lost something_. As they all had. But he had work to do, and he moved on as they all must, yet the memory of what was once beloved lingered.

"Sometimes I think she made me King so I'd have something to do when she was gone." He laughed at his own joke. It was boyish warmth mingled with a quiet sadness.

They sat in peaceful silence. Evelyn thought about her own sadness. She remembered when it was loud, buzzing in her brain like a plague of locusts, swarming and destroying the rest of her. She remembered a dull and muted sadness, as if the buzzing was still there, but it's ever-presence numbed her to the vastness of it. And now, as she felt out her sadness,  _strange that she had to remember to look for it now_ , it was neither loud nor muted but... _clear_? Also strange, that word. Clear. Not a buzzing chaos out in the open or one where she'd simply shut a window on it. It was there and clear and it knew its place. She could acknowledge it or choose not to. She could let herself hear it, or set it aside and choose to hear something else. Like Cullen's whispers in her ear as they held each other close, or his laughter when she teased him.

Alistair's sadness, however, seemed even different from all of those. He was at ease with it, not overrun by it, nor controlled by it, nor controlling it. His sadness was dignified and silent, sitting next to him, like the wilted rose.

"Congratulations by the way!" He suddenly exclaimed. "Cullen told me about the wedding. I love weddings. There's always cake. You should get married here. I would offer to marry you myself, but I think that's ship captains, not kings, right? I could give away the bride though, I'm sure a King is qualified to do that."

Evelyn just stared, not quite knowing what to say to the monarch's sincere and  _kind_  enthusiasm. She should have tried harder to find something to say though because he misinterpreted her hesitation. He shook his head and waved his hands and Evelyn would swear she saw a blush rise on his cheeks beneath his beard.

"Oh, but well done, Alistair, inviting yourself to other people's weddings! Anyway, the offer is there Lady Evelyn." Then his voice changed a little again, the dignified sadness returning. "Cullen and Solona knew one another. A long time ago. Before she and I. And I consider Cullen a friend. So I think she would have wanted me to offer to give you away at least. Either that or she would have been appalled at my bad manners and I would have had to dodge a fireball."

Evelyn couldn't help the snort of a laugh she let out. Turning, she rested her good hand on top of the King's. "I'd be honored if you would give me away, Your Majesty. And I'll keep my fireballs to myself, I promise."

Alistair relaxed and chatted a bit more about Solona. Nothing consequential, but Evelyn knew it was the little things that often shone the brightest when one wanted to recall happy times.

"May I ask you a question, Your Majesty?"

"Just 'Alistair' is fine, by the way. If I give you away, that makes us close enough to family, so can we dispense with the titles? Then I won't have to worry about what to call you."

"Would you have married her, Alistair?"

"Absolutely." He answered almost before she even finished the question.

"But…"

Again he was quick with a response to the questions he didn't give her a chance to get out.

"But she was a mage? But we were Wardens? But the Chantry wouldn't condone it? But 'my subjects' might object? But she didn't have family ties or lands or titles or blah blah blah blah. I didn't really give a nug's arse about all that, to be honest. I loved her. She loved me. Bugger everything else. If we'd gotten the chance in the end, maybe it would have made me a bad King ignoring all those things, but I didn't care. Still don't. We deserved it. She deserved it. And if she'd lived, I would have given it to her. So, if you're asking for my very Kingly advice, enjoy your wedding and bugger everything else. And enjoy every moment while it lasts."

Alistair stood, paused, then reached down to pick up Solona's rose. He smiled and handed it to Evelyn, then left her alone in the garden, straightening his crown as he walked away.

It wasn't long before Cullen found her on the bench. She idly brushed the soft petals of the flower along her lips and inhaled the scent of it as he sat down next to her.

"I...uh...I understand the King is going to be giving you away at the wedding?" Cullen must have run into Alistair after he and Evelyn's brief, strange, and very forward conversation beside the Hero of Ferelden's memorial.

"Mmhm." She nodded.

"So, Her Holiness Divine Victoria is going to marry us and His Majesty the King of Ferelden is going to give you away?"

"Mmhm." She nodded again.

"Shall we ask the Imperial Archon to come and set off fireworks for us at the reception?"

"Does Dorian know him?"

He ignored her question, but offered a statement, spoken with a bit of chagrin, a profound sincerity and entirely in the spirit of enjoying the moment. "I love you, Evelyn."

"I love you too, Cullen."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still just writing this in fits and starts when something comes to me and I'm not agonizing over it (or editing it much ;p ), I'm just writing what feels good and I'm still enjoying it a ton, so thank you for reading!


	14. Dance

Evelyn wore a blue dress to her wedding. The ceremony was held in Denerim in one of the wild little gardens hidden inside the palace. As it turned out, Divine Victoria owed the Ferelden capital a visit, so she was more than happy to see to the joining of two old friends while she was there.

Cullen's family was present and his sisters helped her pin up her hair, which was now long again. Alistair gave her a rose to wear in it and he gave her away, as promised. The guest list was small but the proceedings were most certainly proper, properly official, officially sanctioned and yet, sanctimony free.

Rylen was there to stand with Cullen and he brought a group of their Templars who would soon become personal guards to the King. They made an aisle for her with their swords, raised high and crossed like an arch above her head as Alistair led her to Cullen.

Strangely, Evelyn's mind was elsewhere during the staid ceremony. It was late into autumn, now, nearly winter. Crunchy, dry multicolored leaves were piled high and the breeze that blew through the garden was cold. Even so, she felt warm. Whether it was the shining sun or Cullen's smile that did more to warm her, she wasn't sure.

Her thoughts wandered here and there aimlessly as the Divine recited the Chant. She looked down at her dress and admired the sapphire hue. She couldn't recall ever having worn anything she liked so well. Her eyes roamed to Cullen's hand holding hers where he rhythmically rubbed at her palm with his thumb as if the continuous movement was somehow to make sure she didn't disappear like a dream on a passing Fade wind. She couldn't blame him. She'd come as close to disappearing as anyone had a right to. It stung to remember how he'd had to pull her back from the abyss when she couldn't see a way back herself.

She was lucky. For so many things she was lucky. The sky above reflected her uncharacteristic bright outlook. Clouds floated by as if the white tufts themselves wanted to catch a glimpse of the happenings down below. It made her think of all the dark clouds she'd known in her past, some so thick she remembered practically feeling them on her skin.

Somehow though, all those days,  _months_ ,  _years_ , of imperfection had led her to this peculiar perfect moment with a perfect blue dress, a rose in her hair, and Cullen.

_Marvel at perfection, for it is fleeting…_

Perhaps. If the winds turned again, and her luck changed, then it changed. She wasn't a floating cloud anymore, forced to watch the world below as the winds tossed her about and others used her to shield their eyes from the sun. She was here, standing,  _still_   _standing,_  after everything, and she would  _keep standing_ , for herself, and for Cullen and for no one else.

And then she blinked at it was done. Cassandra gave a final blessing and Cullen swept her up into a kiss that tasted of triumph. The garden's colors turned hazy and the sounds of the world became muted as she focused on herself and her heart. It was beating, loudly, proudly, and the feeling of the pounding in her chest made the pain in her missing arm feel as distant as the sky above.

Cullen led her back through the crossed Templar swords. After passing under each pair, the blades lowered behind them. She felt lighter with each step as if the weapons were cutting through the chains she had dragged behind her for years, one by one. Cullen moved faster too, his load lighter as well. He stood taller, smiled wider and pulled her along. When they reached the end of the aisle he kissed her again and their guests clapped. The music of it rose to a crescendo in her ears. She kissed him back this time and put all of her heart in it. Her battered, battle-torn, rent, wounded, recovered, healed and newly whole again, heart.

They were still kissing even when everyone started to clear out of the garden. Lost in themselves, Evelyn thought she vaguely heard some congratulations offered, and she vaguely thought Cullen got a few pats on the back.

"You know, no one gets any cake until you two cut into it, so could you hurry it up a bit?"

Cullen broke away at Alistair's admonition. Evelyn couldn't be angry about it though. In fact, she was thrilled that Alistair had reminded her about the cake. Suddenly, she wanted nothing so much in all of Thedas than that cake.

The two men shook hands. "Thank you again, Your Majesty, for accommodating us in the Palace like this, and for giving away the bride. We're very grateful." Cullen was about to continue his thanks, but one of the king's stewards came rushing into the garden calling out to him.

"Your Majesty, I'm so sorry to interrupt but I'm afraid I must remind you that you promised to meet with the Teyrn's people from Highever as soon as they arrived. They're being escorted to the Landsmeet chamber now."

Alistair's disappointment at missing out on the party was obvious but, he didn't object. "His people? Fergus wasn't able to come himself?"

"No, Your Majesty, he sends his deepest apologies and humbly requests that you allow his younger sister, Elissa, to represent him."

"Huh. I didn't even know Fergus had a sister."

"She doesn't much like Court, sir, so she rarely visits the capital."

"Well. It sounds like she and I have a few things in common."

The steward rolled his eyes and let out a long-suffering sigh. "Indeed, Your Majesty, and while I'm certain it's a waste of breath, in light of today's joyous occasion," the man offered a polite bow of respect to Cullen and Evelyn, "I'd also like to add that Lady Elissa is  _unmarried_. Another thing the two of you have in common."

Alistair ignored the allusion and instead shook Cullen's hand again. "Congratulations to you both and may the Maker bless your union. I'm sorry I have to go." He bent down to give Evelyn a peck on the cheek and took the opportunity to whisper, "Save me a piece of cake, will you?"

Evelyn gave the King a conspiratorial nod in assent, and then reached up to straighten his crown for him before he walked away. She winked at Cullen when she overheard Alistair ask his steward before they disappeared into the palace, " _Do you think Lady Elissa likes dogs?_ "

xxxx

Cullen held Evelyn's hand as they walked slowly to where their friends and family were waiting for them to continue the celebration. Evelyn was chatting about how she hoped their wedding put the King into a mindset of considering his own future, especially with the fortuitous arrival of a promising potential consort. Cullen was only half listening. His mind was entirely focused on himself. Perhaps that was selfish and he should be thinking in terms of 'we' and 'us', now that he and Evelyn were an 'us', but his good fortune in making it to this day, with this woman by his side, far outshone any other considerations for the moment.

He wanted to bask in it for a while, his astonishing luck. At every turn, every moment of his life that he thought had been a trial, unrelenting and dark, those were all actually turning points. Magnificent strokes of luck that veered him in the right direction, put him on a course that led to this very second where he was finally  _holding his wife's hand._

_Now if he could just get her to dance with him…_

Unfortunately, the vultures that were his family descended on her before he could ask, hugging her and fawning over her and once again, shoving him aside. He didn't actually mind, but it had always been a regret for him that he'd refused her request to share a dance when they attended the ball at the Winter Palace. His head was too far up his arse at the time and he was too frustrated by having to protect said arse from the shameless gropers at the Orlesian Court. He would not be making the same mistake on his wedding day and he highly doubted there were any present in the Fereldan Court who would feel the need to pinch his bottom.

He waited patiently as Evelyn graciously attended to their guests. She wore a genuine smile and she seemed more at ease than he'd ever seen her, with the mark on her lost hand or without. Deciding to let her enjoy the reception, he helped himself to cake, had a drink with Rylen and collected on a bet he'd made with Varric that he'd never be able to convince Evelyn to marry him. He was thanking Cassandra before she was called away to her other duties, when out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Dorian dancing with Evelyn.

Irritated, but placated by the fact that Evelyn looked blissfully happy as she was turned around the dance floor by the mage who was certainly more graceful that he would ever be, Cullen let it pass that his wife was temporarily stolen from him again.

Another piece of cake. Another drink. The King returned, this time accompanied by a strikingly beautiful woman with chestnut hair and an aquiline Fereldan nose. Cullen offered the two cake and drink and he hoped to find them dancing later. Dancing. Like how Evelyn was dancing with Rylen.

Annoyed, but comforted by the fact that Evelyn was still enjoying herself, and now laughing at what was likely a poorly told joke by Rylen, Cullen let the continued theft of his wife pass.

He couldn't possible eat any more cake and he had no desire to get so drunk he passed out before he could enjoy his wedding night. He paced and then he stood and tapped his foot, while he watched Evelyn go through the longest dance card he'd ever seen, not that he had much experience to go on.

Alistair. Branson. Varric.  _For Maker's fucking sake._  Even Sera got to dance with Evelyn before he did.

When the sun set and the moons rose, he retreated to a balcony to count the stars while he waited. At the rate she was going, he might be finished counting by the time she was available to him. It wasn't long though before she found him and sidled up next to him. She was flushed, and grinning and  _beautiful_  when she spoke.

"You know, since neither of us like these sorts of parties, I may never have another chance like this so, I must ask." Evelyn took a step back, stood tall, then bowed and extended her only hand. "May I have this dance?"

Cullen took her hand. "For you, My Lady, I'll try."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit for the idea to have Alistair find a happy ending with Elissa in this story belongs to a lovely wonderful brilliant friend, Miss_ragdoll84, who couldn't bear to see poor Alibear sad forever <3\. Thank you Doll ;)


	15. Epilogue-Family

Evelyn Rutherford left their Ferelden farm with one husband, one babe on her hip, one in her belly and a smile on her face. It was long past time she visited her old family in Ostwick and introduced them to her new one, whether the Trevelyans were interested or not.

Outside the Rutherford home, on a bright spring day, they readied to depart for the Free Marches. The baby kicked inside her happily and at the same time her son squirmed out of her arms to run to his father who was packing up the horses and wagon for the journey. Evelyn rubbed at her midsection and closed her eyes. She was getting hungry again and, now that most of her nausea had passed, she couldn’t stop thinking about cake.

While she watched Cullen sweep up their firstborn and toss him playfully into the air, she recalled the day she knew for sure everything would be different. Better. It was the day she got married.

Evelyn had two pieces of cake that day at her wedding. She savored each bite with greedy satisfaction and savored the knowledge along with it that what might seem like a simple thing of butter and sugar was actually a celebration of something she wanted, something she’d earned and something she deserved.

Cullen found her throwing up both pieces behind some bushes not long after she’d licked the last crumb from her fork.

The following morning, she threw up her breakfast and the morning after that found her vomiting even before she’d eaten anything. Cullen realized before she did. It hadn’t been something she’d planned. It never even entered her thoughts. How could it be possible? How could she, who had nearly cast her own life aside, have created another?

Because _she_ hadn’t. _They_ had. She and Cullen together. And that was how it was now. _Her_ life was now _their_ life.

‘Life’ was too much for one person, she decided that day. Life was best lived with two. And when two became three, life got just that much easier. The things she’d thought were important simply _weren’t_ anymore in the face of a tiny babe, who looked exactly like his father, and who needed her more than anyone in Thedas ever had or ever would. The machinations of empires, of kings and queens and dukes and empresses, became insignificant in comparison. She now had two kings to call her own who thought she was more important than any queen. The thought of a fourth person in their family made her positively giddy.

_Giddy. How ridiculous._

Little did she care. The hole in her chest was filled now, the fractures in her heart healed. There were scars. There always would be. Scars and a missing arm. But she wasn’t ruled by those scars or the memories that went with them any longer.

Evelyn had been many things in her life and she now realized she’d always let her ‘designation’ control her rather than exerting her own control.

As a mage, she followed, cowered, walked a line. As Inquisitor, she lead, fought, served. As a wounded soldier, she ached, mourned and let pain overtake her. Now, though...now she was a wife, but that did not define her, it complimented her. She was a mother, but that did not encompass who or what she was, it simply fortified it.

She could _accept_ things now, accept herself, good and bad, triumphs and mistakes. She could accept the world for what it was and she realized that, no matter what, in the end, the world could go right ahead and fuck itself because she was perfectly capable of making her own damn happiness.

If her birth family rejected her, it mattered not. She’d built her own family. She’d worked hard, _let_ _someone in_ , shared herself and shared in his life.

“Are you sure you don’t just want to invite the Trevelyan’s here?”

Cullen set down their son and let him run around aimlessly in the field as boys are wont to do. The question he asked her was the same question he’d asked every day since she decided to make this trip.

“ _They_ aren’t why we’re going, Cullen. They’re just another stop along the way. You know I want to get out a bit before this one arrives.” She pointed a finger at her tummy. “And we promised Alistair we’d come see his little Prince.”

Alistair had wed the sister of the Teyrn of Highever not long after she and Cullen were wed. Though Evelyn hadn’t been able to travel back to Denerim for their wedding, the King had written a personal note to her enclosed with their official invitation that let her know he had also seemed to find his way towards an unexpected sort of happiness:

_‘She loves dogs. She hates nobles. And she laughs at my jokes. I’m a lucky man. -Alistair.’_

Scribbled beneath that, was a note from his bride:

_‘His sense of humor is terrible. I laugh at him, not his jokes. I do love dogs though. And him. -Elissa.’_

Cullen persisted in gently trying to talk her out of going. “The Prince is still at his mother’s breast, Ev. We can wait to see him until he’s at least walking.”

He was trying to protect her. It made her smile. In the past she might have bristled at it. She might have pushed back, seeing an overbearing Templar or a doting superficial friend, or even thought it was a slight against her, doubting what she was capable of tolerating. But she knew Cullen just wasn’t like that. His position came from a place of love. He’d always trusted her. She saw that now. He’d given her distance when she needed it and pulled her close when she’d needed that even when she very literally tried to beat him back and push away.

Evelyn kissed him and she leaned into his hands as they moved up and down her tummy. As she knew would happen, he was immediately distracted from his train of thought.

“ _Maker_ , Ev, I just...I know this is our second, love, but it’s amazing to see you change like this.” He nuzzled her neck and ran his hands all along her curves.

She swelled with pride every time Cullen marveled at her growing body. The contentment inside her swelled too knowing that he’d seen every possible iteration of who she was, from messy and complicated to simple and glorious, and still he loved her.

“We’re going Cullen.” She said with finality and she knew he would accept it. “Because I just don’t give a damn anymore. I’m happy. I want to see Alistair be happy. I want our friends to see us being happy and I want my family to know I’m happy in spite of them.”

“Fine, fine.” Cullen sighed, selfishly enjoying the role of indulgent husband. “My sister told me not to refuse a pregnant wife. Ever.”

“Huh. Glad you decided to listen to her for once.”

They set off and made good time. Cullen’s sister reiterated her advice when they visited South Reach. When they visited Denerim, Alistair was positively beaming at his wife and son. Evelyn left a rose at the Hero of Ferelden's memorial and told her son the story of how the brave mage felled an archdemon. They convinced Dorian to travel south and meet them while they were in the capital. He swore their son had the aura of a mage and promised to teach him proper magic when he came of age. In Kirkwall, they met with Varric. He looked miserable sitting in his office as Viscount but he looked ecstatic when he snuck out of the keep and taught their son how to play dice.

When finally they reached Ostwick, Evelyn thought she might hesitate. She waited for the voices in her head to speak up, rear their ugly heads and try to drag her back down with them. Cullen was waiting too, though he remained silent and respectful of Evelyn’s autonomy. Strangely, the voices never came, nor did the hesitation. Evelyn didn’t pause on the hill overlooking the Trevelyan manor this time. She marched right down it, holding her son’s hand, and allowing Cullen to hold onto her arm with the missing hand. She walked up to the door, head high, and though completely unannounced, she knocked on it.

She would never remember exactly how she and her family were ushered inside or who the first person was to actually greet them. She wouldn’t remember how the sister-in-law she’d never met whisked away Cullen and their son in a wave of smiles, happy handshakes and introductions among cousins.

She would always remember her brother with tears in his eyes, hugging her close, without permission, too overcome to hold back and whispering to her, his voice filled with emotion.

“ _Evelyn_. Evelyn, we found your staff. We’ve kept it for you. Welcome home. _Welcome home.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> I want to give credit and thanks to KuraNova who suggested that I should have Evelyn use the cutting involved in blood magic as the means for her self-harm. It seemed to fit with the idea I had for this story, so thank you so much for the inspiration friend!


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